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THE 
CRESTED   SEAS 


When  we  got  alongside  we  had  to  be  everlastin'ly  careful." 


*■'''''     ^ 


THE 
CRESTED  SEAS 


BY 


JAMES  BRENDAN  CONNOLLY 

Author  of  "Out  of  Gloucester,"  "The  Seiners," 
"The  Deep  Sea's  Toll,"  Etc. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
NEW    YORK::::::::::::::::::i907 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  September,  1907 


CONTENTS 

PAOB 

The  Dance i 

On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 19 

The  Blasphemer 37 

The  Commandeering  of  the  Lucy  Foster     .     .     53 

The  Illimitable  Senses 77 

The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 103 

The  Drawn  Shutters 147 

The  Smugglers 165 

Between  Shipmates 197 

The  Ice-Dogs 215 

The  Americanization  of  Roll-Down  Joe  .    .    .247 

The  Harsh  Word 269 

The  Magnetic  Hearth 289 


483?)  0 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"When  wc    got   alongside  we   had   to   be  cverlastin'ly 

careful" Frontispiece 

VACING 
PAGE 

**Ben,  with  the   skipper's  help,  was  climbing  over  the 

rail" 48 

"Our  passenger  thought  the  devil  and  all  was  runnin' 

amuck  over  the  ocean  " 64 

"The  deck-load  began  to  loosen  up" 158 

"There  was  no  such  monstrous  lock  as  that  last  night, 

OUie?" 174 


u  > 


Twas  me  that  stowed  them  in  the  dory"    .      .     .      .182 

"I'll  bet  there'll   be  none  of  you  hang  on  any  longer 

than   I  do" 282 

"Our   skipper  leaned,  weak  as   water,   over  the   dory- 
gunnel"      286 


THE  DANCE 


The  Dance 

INTO  the  middle  of  the  dance  somebody  threw 
what  was  meant  for  a  bombshell.  "They  say 
the  cutter's  on  the  way,"  suddenly  said  this  lad. 

"Some  say  she's  in  the  bay,"  he  added,  when 
his  preliminary  seemed  to  produce  no  consterna- 
tion. But  the  man  at  whom  it  was  aimed  was  not 
unacquainted  with  the  abounding  jealousy  of  the 
male  in  this  most  primitive  region  of  West  New- 
foundland; and  also  it  had  ever  been  his  secret 
pride  that  nothing  affected  his  nerve. 

"Even  if  she  is,"  he  retorted  now,  "what  odds 
till  she  gets  here?"  and  in  doubHng  enjoyment 
continued  to  swing  his  buxom  partner. 

But  at  midnight  a  young  fellow  in  fishing  rig 
came  from  the  other  side  of  the  bay  with  news  yet 
more  positive  and  alarming.  "Where's  Captain 
Powers?" 

"In  a  minute,  boy,  and  Fll  be  with  you,"  and 
to  the  assembled  admiration  finished  the  reel. 

"She's  to  anchor  below,  and  they've  been  inquir- 
in'  of  you.  Captain — you  and  the  little  WeaseU^ 

"Then  it's  time  for  me  to  go.  But  what  d'y'  say, 
Bess,  another  dance?" 

3 


The  Dance 

"Surely,  Bryan,  one  more,"  and  in  exulting  tri- 
umph with  this  capture  of  the  American  captain 
she  snapped  her  fingers  to  the  fiddler,  after  which 
she  accompanied  him  to  the  porch. 

"And  when  will  you  be  back,  Bryan  ?  For,  of 
course,  'twill  be  a  small  matter  for  you  to  slip  the 
cutter  and  away  as  you've  done  a  score  o'  times 
before.     When  will  you  be  back.?" 

"I'll  be  back  for  a  dance  this  night  week.  And 
mind  you  keep  one  for  me,  Bess." 

"Ay,  boy,  and  more  than  one,"  and  they  kissed 
and  parted. 

In  his  little  schooner  Bryan,  to  escape  the  cut- 
ter, was  forced  to  crowd  into  the  Gulf  of  St.  Law- 
rence by  the  north  shore  of  the  bay.  Once  there 
he  would  have  liked  to  lay  his  course  for  the  Mag- 
dalen Islands,  which  lay  two  hundred  miles  or  so 
to  the  west  and  south;  but  now,  what  with  the  ap- 
proaching morn  and  the  attendant  light,  he  dared 
not  cross  the  open  water  at  the  mouth  of  the 
bay.  The  cutter's  glasses  were  altogether  too  far- 
reaching,  even  if  they  were  not  informed  by  jeal- 
ous swains  as  to  the  likeliest  direction  to  find  him. 
So  he  decided  to  head  northward,  to  hug  the  coast 
until  such  time  as  it  might  be  safe  to  swing  out 
into  the  broad  gulf  and  so  on  southerly  to  the 
Magdalens.  This  he  the  more  readily  decided  to 
do  because  on  the  north  coast  were  loopholes  of 

4 


The  Dance 

escape — little  harbors  of  refuge  wherein  a  bold 
man  might  slip  to  and  hide  from  troublesome  cut- 
ters that  could  steam  against  the  wind. 

"And  speaking  of  Bonne  Bay,  Wallace" — 
Bryan  was  addressing  the  cleverest  of  his  crew — 
"a  good  hundred  miles  it  is,  but  suppose  now  we 
could  make  it?" 

"You  make  it  and  Til  find  a  hiding  place  where 
a  whole  navy  of  bloodhounds  wouldn't  smell  us, 
Captain." 

"Well,  Bonne  Bay  it  is." 

"And  here's  the  vapor  coming.  Captain — to  hide 
us  from  the  cutter." 

"M-m — yes,  Wallace — but  hides  her  from  us, 
too." 

They  were  debating  that  question  then  when, 
the  white  haze  lifting  and  rolling  away,  they  made 
out  the  smudge  of  smoke  astern.  Far  away  it  was 
then,  but  not  to  be  doubted. 

"The  cutter.  Captain?" 

"That's  what.  And  if  we  can  see  her  smoke 
she  can  surely  make  out  our  sail.  Here's  where 
the  vapor  would  help,  Wallace,  and  bear  out  your 
argument." 

"Ay,  Captain.     'Twas  like  a  wall,  that  vapor." 

"Like  a  wall,  yes,  Wallace,  or  like  a  curtain 
hiding  the  stage.  But  now" — he  drove  his  arm 
through  the  air  as  if  it  were  a  solid  substance  op- 

5 


The  Dance 

posing  him — "now  the  wind's  our  only  hope. 
Blow,  ye  devils,  blow!"  and,  after  his  fashion,  al- 
lowed his  mind  to  run  where  it  would. 

"Man,  but  the  breeze  I  had  once  in  the  Bering 
Sea,  and  a  cruiser  ten  times  the  size  of  that  cutter 
after  us !  Out  of  the  fog  she  came  like  a  black 
something  throwing  off  a  white  sheet.  All  black 
she  was  except  for  a  gold  stripe  along  her  run,  and 
ten  thousand  horse-power.  We  knew  her  and  she 
knew  us ;  and  we  a  little  vessel  with  only  the  wind 
to  save  her — and  us.  But  that's  not  getting  away 
from  this  fellow,  is  it  ?     Sway  up  everything  now." 

And,  while  they  heaved  on  the  halyards  and 
gigs,  he  sang  defiantly: 

Oh,  beating  up  the  coast  on  a  blowy  winter's  day — 
From  the  fog  we  raised  a  cutter  of  his  Kinglet's  o'er 

the  way. 
She  fires  a  shot  across  our  bows  by  way  of  saying, 

Belay! 
We  ranges  fair  across  her  bows,  and  then — we  bore 

away. 
Southeast  by  east  for  Matakan,  and,  oh,  the  wind  it 

blew! 
As  out  before  the  howling  gale  our  little  vessel  flew. 
The  sea  was  such,  the  wind  was  such,  they  did'nt  fire 

a  shot, 
Because  they  didn't  dare  to  wear,  but — they  must  've 

swore  a  lot ! 
"  *  O,  flyin'  down  the  coast  like ' 

another  heave  or  two  on  the  mains'l,  fellows." 

6 


The  Dance 

He  trained  the  glasses  on  the  fast-looming 
steamer  astern.  "I  told  'em  Fd  wreck  the  jack 
before  Fd  let  any  Government  vessel  get  her,  and 
I  will.  Damn  'em,  anyway,  all  cutters  and  cruis- 
ers!    And  if  she  is  wrecked " 

"Wrecked  ?  Then  it'll  be  mixed  drinks,  Skip- 
per." 

Bryan  grinned.  "It  cert'nly  will.  And  high-priced 
— there's  stuff  below  cost  ten  dollars  a  quart." 

"H-m-m — "  Wallace  was  drawing  the  end  of 
his  tongue  across  his  lower  lip.  "  I've  been  think- 
ing, Skipper,  that  we'd  all  be  better  men  if  we  had 
a  sup  of  that  same.  A  shame,  don't  you  think 
yourself,  Skipper — so  much  of  it  below,  and  we 
like  to  lose  it  all  soon  and  never  a  sup  on  so  cold 
a  mornin'  ? " 

"Well,  I  don't  know  but  you're  right,  Wallace. 
Off  with  the  hatch,  and  the  first  case  you  find 
bring  on  deck — the  first  case,  mind." 

They  tossed  one  up.  "Let's  see  now.  What'd 
you  get  ?  You  cert'nly  drew  a  good  one.  That's 
the  most  expensive  stuff  in  her  hold." 

"Ay,  Skipper,  we  know'd  it,  when  we  stowed 
it."  Wallace  grinned  widely.  "Is  it  every  man 
a  bottle  to  himself.  Skipper?" 

"One  bottle,  no  more;  but  no  stopping  to  drink 
it  all  now.  One  swallow  now  and  then;  stand 
by,  for  I  see  that  Bonne  Bay  we'll  never  make, 

7 


The  Dance 

though  this  breeze  is  all  that  a  big  ship  could  ask 
for.  Fifty  tons  more  to  her  now  and  she'd  be 
doin'  her  fourteen  in  this  breeze." 

"And  yet  a  grand  boat  of  her  tonnage,  Skipper 
— quick  to  handle." 

"I  know  that,  and  a  good  thing  for  where  I 
think  ril  put  her — Hell's  Harbor  do  they  still  call 
it,  just  ahead  ?  That  was  the  name  when  I  was 
last  there,  five  years  ago." 

"Ay,  sir,  and  hell  it  is  yet  to  make  on  a  blowy 
day." 

"All  the  worse  for  whoever  is  behind  us.  And 
worse  yet  if  men  brought  up  on  sailing  craft 
don't  dare  to  go  farther  than  steamboat  hands. 
You'll  follow  me,  lads?" 

"Ay,  Skipper!"  They  waved  the  half-empty 
bottles.     "To  hell  itself!" 

Bryan  could  easily  make  out  the  cutter  then. 
"Four  miles  to  our  three  she's  coming.  O  man, 
but  with  fifty  tons  more  there'd  be  damn  little 
turning  out  of  the  road  then,  and  that  lad  so  bold 
with  his  guns  would  never  get  near  enough  to  use 
them.  But,  Lord,  it's  a  poor  man  that  quarrels 
with  his  tools.  She'll  do.  We'll  make  her  do. 
Stand  ready  now.  Heave  those  bottles  over  or 
hurry  up  and  empty  them — one  or  the  other." 

"Will  you  be  needing  a  pilot.  Skipper?"  asked 

Wallace.     "'Cause  if  you  do " 

8 


The  Dance 

"Why  a  pilot?  Even  if  I  couldn't  remember, 
it's  easy  made,  that  road.  There's  the  deep  water, 
and  there's  the  rocks,  both  marked  better  than  if 
all  the  red  and  black  Gover'ment  buoys  in  the 
world  was  there.  Where  a  surf  like  that  shows 
only  blind  men  could  go  wrong.  And  they 
wouldn't  even  then,  if  they  only  used  their  ears. 
Pilot  ?  Lord,  no,  but  a  strong  hand  to  the  wheel. 
Take  it,  you  Wallace,  and  forget  all  that  ever 
entered  your  head  except  how  to  steer  a  vessel. 
And  wait  till  I  give  the  word.  And  when  I  do, 
you  move.  Hear  me  ?  If  you  hope  to  see  Bay 
of  Islands  ever  again,  you  work  now." 

So  they  ran  till  it  lacked  an  hour  of  sunset. 
"Plenty  of  light  yet,  plenty,"  muttered  Bryan, 
and  guided  her  between  two  large  rocks.  Hell's 
Gateposts,  against  which  the  billows  of  the  broad 
gulf  were  now  breaking,  mounting  white  to  the 
bald  crests  almost. 

Tearing  past  the  granite  entrance  went  the  little 
jack,  with  Wallace  to  the  wheel  and  eyes  on  Bryan, 
who  in  turn  stood  at  the  fore-rigging  with  eyes 
only  for  the  channel  ahead.  It  was  a  dubious 
outlook;  so  much  so  that  were  it  not  for  the  nar- 
row strip  of  green  between  quarter  and  bare  rocks 
Bryan  would  have  taken  but  small  comfort. 
"But  that  lad  behind  won't  come  in  so  easy, 
steam  power  though  he  has,"  he  commented,  and 

9 


The  Dance 

by  way  of  defiance  waved  an  arm  toward  them. 
*'And  once  within,  I'm  blessed  sure  he'll  feel  even 
less  comfortable,  especially  when  he  comes  to 
turn  the  Elbow — if  ever  he  does." 

Inside  the  entrance  they  drove  through  a  little 
harbor  of  quiet  water,  where  the  jack  might  have 
lain  comfortably  if  it  were  not  for  the  pursuing 
cutter. 

The  only  passage  for  them  out  of  Hell's  Harbor 
was  through  the  north  entrance,  and  to  reach  that 
from  the  south  side  of  the  bay  it  was  necessary 
to  go  by  way  of  the  Elbow.  The  bay  was  some- 
times used  by  fishermen  to  set  trawls  or  nets;  but 
expert  and  venturesome  as  they  were,  when  they 
desired  to  reach  one  side  of  the  bay  from  the  other, 
the  north  from  the  south  or  vice  versa,  they  usually 
preferred  to  make  the  passage  outside  rather  than 
attempt  the  Elbow,  even  in  moderate  weather. 
And  now  it  was  blowing  a  gale. 

Now  fairly  inside,  the  jack  was  approaching 
a  stretch  of  jagged  rocks  which  protruded  from 
the  sea  for  varying  heights.  Some  barely  showed 
above  the  normal  level,  others  rose  for  perhaps 
ten  feet  above  the  surface  of  the  sea.  Devil's 
Claws  the  natives  called  them,  and  never  did  they 
suggest  a  more  wicked  end  to  whoever  might  ap- 
proach them  than  now  in  this  westerly  gale  which, 
pressing  in  from  the  Gulf,  whistled  as  it  forced  its 

10 


The  Dance 

way  through  the  narrow  entrance,  and  further  in, 
where  now  the  jack  was,  tore  up  the  sea  until  the 
claws  lay,  now  bare  and  again  all  but  hidden  by 
the  upborne  waters. 

The  peril  of  the  moment  could  not  dull  Bryan's 
easily  stirred  imagination.  "The  breeze  is  mak- 
ing this  devil  nervous,"  he  said.  "See  him  open 
and  close  his  fingers.  Maybe  he  thinks  there'll 
be  something  doing  for  him  soon" — and  just  then 
a  fresh  squall  tearing  the  water  wide  open — "  and 
now  see  him!  It's  teeth,  not  claws,  now — look! 
He  opens  his  mouth  and  laughs,  and  you  can  see 
his  gums  and  then  the  teeth  close  again  and — 
m'm — they'd  grab  us  in  a  minute  and  chew  us  up 
and  spit  us  out.  He  wouldn't  stop  to  swallow  us, 
not  him — but  spit  us  out,  dead  men  all,  crushed 
and  bloody — and  our  little  vessel  ground  to  pow- 
der. Oh,  don't  you  wish  you  could  get  us!"  He 
shook  his  fist  at  the  indented  row. 

The  crew  were  inhaling  the  leader's  spirit: 
"Would  he  stop  to  take  a  few  sups  of  wine  on  the 
way.  Captain  ? " 

Bryan  laughed.  "Lord,  but  you're  certainly 
wits.  But  it's  blood,  not  wine,  he  wants.  But 
look  astern!" 

They  looked  and  saw  the  cutter  now  inside 
the  entrance,  feeling  her  way  cautiously.  "She'll 
never  come  this  far.     The  look  of  that  little  line 

II 


The  Dance 

of  rocks  there  and  the  narrowing  of  the  passage  will 
be  enough  for  her.  She  won't  come  far  enough 
to  examine  any  Elbow.  Soon  it'll  be  about  ship 
and  most  careful  in  the  turning,  with  the  engine- 
room  bells  working  double  watches.  Back  to  the 
south  for  her  when  she  finds  she  can't  get  here. 
Plenty  of  good  men  in  those  Gover'ment  boats, 
but  they're  gen'rally  not  running  long  chances, 
certainly  not  just  for  devilment.  However  things 
turn  out,  their  pay  envelopes  come  at  the  end  of 
every  month  regular." 

"Ay,  they  gets  their  wages,  Captain,  but  we  has 
to  earn  ours  first." 

"That's  it.  And  right  here's  where  we'll  earn 
— or  lose — ours.  Steady  now."  The  jack  was 
nearing  the  point  where  she  would  have  to  make 
what  was  practically  a  right-angled  turn,  after 
which  she  would  have  to  speed  into  the  wind  like 
a  top.  And  everything  would  need  to  be  done 
with  extreme  rapidity.  Then,  when  she  was  all 
but  ready  to  come  about,  she  would  have  to  be 
given  her  head;  and  then  away  with  her  on  the 
new  course,  which  was  practically  at  right  angles 
to  the  entering  stretch. 

With  the  wind  as  it  was  then,  and  with  the  cutter 
making  a  need  of  hurrying,  Bryan  knew  that  he 
would  find  it  necessary  to  keep  her  under  full 
headway,  and  only  to  hold  her  up,  to  check  her, 

12 


The  Dance 

at  the  critical  point;  and  then  it  would  have  to  be 
as  one  checks  a  race-horse.  For,  if  she  ran  by  but 
a  length  or  slid  off  as  sheets  were  hauled  in,  it  was 
up  on  the  rocks  with  her  and  the  end  for  them- 
selves. 

One  of  the  crew,  after  studying  Bryan's  face, 
was  moved  to  ask:  "Will  she  make  it,  d'y'  think. 
Captain.?" 

He  saw  what  they  needed.  "And  why  shouldn't 
we  make  it?  A  quick-handhn'  little  vessel  and 
still  light  enough  to  see,  why  not  ? "  And  almost 
gaily  drove  her  up,  with  the  freshly  encouraged 
crew  to  the  sheets.  Without  a  sign  of  slack  he  let 
her  tear  on,  until  the  men  turned  half-round  to 
look  at  him.  "Trust  me,''  he  called,  and  they, 
high-strung  but  trusting,  stood  ready. 

Not  until  the  spray  from  the  surge  of  the  dreaded 
lee  Hne  of  rocks  was  coming  over  her  bow  and  the 
crew  thought  she  surely  was  about  to  strike,  did 
he  give  the  word.  Bryan  himself  had  the  wheel 
then.     "In  sheets!"  he  called. 

They  hauled  like  demons.  "Enough?"  and 
they  snapped  the  half  hitches  on. 

"Now  pay  out!"  and  "Stand  by  again!"  he 
called,  and  again  like  racing  men  awaiting  the 
starter's  pistol  they  crouched  to  the  sheets.  "  Now ! " 
snapped  Bryan,  and  in  they  sheeted  again  like 
demons. 

13 


The  Dance 

"When  I  say  'Hold!'  see  that  you  hold," 
warned  Bryan. 

"Ay,  sir." 

"Now — hold!"  and  hold  they  did  hard  and  fast, 
and  down  the  forearm  of  the  Elbow  tore  the  little 
jack.  Another  minute  of  fair  running  and  she 
was  safe. 

"We  played  in  luck,"  commented  Bryan,  and, 
gazing  back  curiously  at  the  bent  line  in  his  wake 
and  the  rocks  whereon  the  ceaseless  white  seas 
had  never  allowed  the  moss  to  fasten,  his  imagin- 
ation was  off  again.  "Like  white  horses,  mad 
white  horses  running  wild.  Lord  help  what  they 
stamp  under  their  feet!  But  where's  our  cutter? 
Get  me  the  glasses  and  we'll  have  a  look.  H'm 
— there  she  is,  going  to  anchor.  Or  is  she  wait- 
ing for  us,  hoping  to  head  us  off  in  the  morning, 
no  doubt?  Afraid,  by  the  Lord!  to  go  back  by 
the  way  she  came  till  it's  broad  daylight.  Yes, 
sir,  that's  what — she  goes  no  farther  on  this  hunt 
to-night.  But  that  don't  mean  we  don't  go  farther. 
Out  of  the  northern  gate  can  you  take  her,  Wal- 
lace, in  the  night  ? " 

"That  I  can.  Captain." 

"Then  take  her,  boy.  And  to  you  (he  waved  a 
triumphant  arm  at  the  lights  and  the  dim  hull  be- 
hind) good-by!  And  now,  fellows,  out  into  the 
Gulf  and  across  to  the  Magdalens  we'll  go  while 

14 


The  Dance 

that  lad's  thinking  we're  still  hid  away  in  here." 
And  with  the  extreme  of  gaiety  he  sang  again: 

"Oh,  flying  down  the  coast  like  a  penitential  ghost, 
And  the  howlin'  west-nor'-wester  warn't  a-worryin* 

us  the  most — 
Oh,  meet  me  up  at  Matakan,  we'll  have  a  party 

there, 
O  Bess  o'  Bay  of  Islands  and  the  red  rose  in  her 

hair!" 

At  an  hour  that  should  have  brought  them  clear 
daylight  the  Weasel  lay  clear  of  the  northern  en- 
trance of  Hell's  Harbor;  but  the  vapor  of  a  frosty 
winter's  morning  lay  like  a  black  cloud  on  the 
barely  undulating  sea.  She  should  have  been  far 
ofF-shore  then,  well  on  her  way  to  the  Magdalens, 
but  the  wind  was  even  flatter  than  the  sea.  She 
was  merely  bobbing  up  and  down,  and  making 
no  more  progress  than  a  grandmother's  rocking- 
chair  across  a  kitchen  floor. 

Bryan,  no  longer  gay,  was  pacing  her  quarter; 
the  men,  gloomy,  were  walking  her  waist,  and  being 
less  philosophical  than  their  leader,  swore  in  their 
beards.  Except  for  their  audible  exclamations 
and  their  footfalls  on  the  damp  deck,  not  a  sound 
echoed  over  the  waters. 

Abruptly  Bryan  halted  in  his  walk,  and  first 
cocking  an  ear  to  the  wind,  bent  it  to  the  rail.  A 
long  barkening  to  the  south,  and  he  shook  his  head ; 

15 


The  Dance 

and  yet — it  came  after  a  thoughtful  pause:  "Mind, 
whatever  happens,  you  fellows  are  all  right.  I 
signed  you  for  a  fishing  trip,  as  the  papers  will 
show.  No  fault  of  yours  I  had  contraband  stuff 
in  the  hold." 

At  that  they  began  to  feel  even  more  uneasy; 
but  that  they  were  not  actually  prehensive  was 
made  clear  when  from  out  of  the  fog  came  the 
stroke  of  a  bell.  Ding-ding,  ding-ding,  ding-ding 
— six  bells,  seven  o'clock.  On  the  west  coast  of 
Newfoundland  it  was  only  Government  vessels  that 
marked  the  time  with  bells. 

And  then,  exactly  as  it  had  done  the  previous 
day,  the  vapor  quickly  rolled  up  to  the  sky.  Not 
a  cable's  length  away  lay  the  cutter.  One  pause 
for  her  commander  to  grasp  the  situation  and  they 
saw  him  pull  the  engine-room  bell.  She  dropped 
easily  alongside  with  her  commander  leaning  over 
the  rail  of  the  bridge. 

"Come  aboard,"  he  said.  The  forbearance  of 
the  victor  spoke  in  his  tone. 

"Thanks,"  answered  Powers,  "I  don't  know 
but  what  we  will.     Come  on,  fellows." 

Not  until  he  reached  the  deck  of  the  cutter  did 
he  speak  further.  He  had  been  looking  over  the 
rail  at  his  little  captive  vessel,  and  from  that  turned 
and  looked  to  where  the  rocks  of  the  Bay  of  Islands 
lay.     And  then — it  was  with  a  sigh  he  said  it: 

l6 


The  Dance 

"Bessie,  girl,  I  did  my  best,  but  we  lingered  o'er 
long  at  that  dance,  and  now  Fm  afraid  you'll  be 
having  to  get  another  partner.'* 

No  more  than  that  when  it  was  time  for  him  to 
be  taken  below. 


17 


ON  THE  BOTTOM  OF 
THE  DORY 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

THERE  was  constraint  between  the  men,  else 
it  would  never  have  happened.  Martin, 
hauling  the  heavily  loaded  trawl  over  the  girdy 
in  the  bow,  could  hardly  have  been  expected  to 
avert  it,  but  ready  to  Harry's  hand  was  the  oar  in 
the  becket,  placed  there  exactly  for  such  a  possi- 
bility. A  quick  flirt  of  a  strong  wrist  and,  bow-on 
or  stem-to,  she  could  have  safely  ridden  out  that 
sea.  But  Harry  was  not  able,  or  not  prepared, 
for  it.  Even  after  Martin  had  called,  *' Watch 
out  for  the  next  one!'*  he  was  slow  to  move. 
Something  must  have  been  on  his  mind. 

So,  exultingly,  the  oncoming  sea  picked  her  up 
and  tossed  her,  and  far  out  were  cast  the  men. 
"Keep  clear  of  the  trawl!"  warned  Martin  when 
he  knew  she  was  going,  and  instinctively  pulled 
loose  the  thwart  as  she  went. 

When  Martin  came  to  the  surface  the  dory  lay 
bottom-up,  perhaps  thirty  feet  away,  and  between 
him  and  the  dory  was  Harry  struggling  heavily. 
"Take  the  thwart,"  said  Martin,  and  tossed  it  to 
him.  "And  here,"  picking  up  the  empty  trawl 
tub  from  beside  him  in  the  sea  and  casting  that  also 

21 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

< 

to  Harry,  although  with  each  effort  he  pushed  him- 
self under  water  and  came  up  gasping;  and  yet  a 
light  matter  that  to  him  who  was  a  swimmer  beyond 
the  average,  and  who  now,  weighted  down  though 
he  was  with  heavy  winter  clothing,  jack-boots, 
oilskins,  had  but  Httle  fear  of  reaching  the  dory. 

Between  tub  and  thwart  the  weaker  man  rested 
himself  until  Martin  made  the  dory,  when,  taking 
a  turn  around  one  elbow  of  the  painter  which 
Martin  cast  him,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  drawn 
carefully  alongside,  and  being  by  then  pretty  well 
exhausted  he  accepted  Martin's  further  help  to 
climb  up  on  the  bottom  of  the  dory. 

"And  now  take  the  plug  strap,''  said  Martin; 
and  in  his  voice  was  just  a  note  of  contempt. 

And  there  they  clung  on,  Harry  hanging  safely 
to  the  plug  strap,  while  Martin  balanced  himself 
with  widespread  arms  and  legs  straddling  the  nar- 
row bottom  of  the  dory's  bow.  Two  hours  they 
clung  so,  and  still  the  fog  held;  and  then  the  snow 
began  to  fall.  Only  once  did  it  break,  and  then 
only  as  if  to  make  a  lane  through  which  they  might 
see  the  sun  sinking  in  the  west.  And  with  that 
sun  went  down  much  of  their  hope,  though  Martin 
would  never  have  confessed  it  aloud. 

"One  good  thing,  we're  sure  of  the  points  of  the 
compass  anyway,  now.  'Tis  a  northeaster,  and 
'twill  hang  on  till  morning,  surely." 

22 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

"FU  never  live  till  morning,"  said  Harry,  "even 
if  I  could  hang  on  that  long." 

The  consuming  pity  that  glowed  in  Martin  for 
all  weak  creatures  dulled  for  a  moment  to  the  old 
ashes  of  contempt,  though  his  "No,  I  don't  think 
you  could,"  was  more  by  way  of  prodding  the 
creature  to  at  least  a  show  of  courage. 

Bo-o-o-m ! 

"There  goes  the  skipper  with  that  old-fashioned 
fog-gun  of  his."  Martin  raised  himself  on  an 
elbow  as  if  to  catch  an  echo.  "She'll  still  be  at 
anchor,  and  in  the  same  spot.     That's  good." 

"The  vessel!"  exclaimed  Harry,  and  began  to 
call  wildly:  "Hi-i — the  Ariadne!" 

"You  might  save  your  breath,"  suggested 
Martin,  and  again  his  scorn  betrayed  itself;  "for 
she  must  be  a  mile  to  wind'ard  of  us." 

It  was  not  yet  too  dark  for  Martin  to  observe 
the  expression  of  despair  overcasting  Harry's  face. 
And  dwelling  on  it  all,  the  man's  weakness,  more 
of  temperament  than  of  intention,  disdain  again 
crumbled  before  pity.  "Cheer  up,  boy,  cheer  up. 
'Tis  a  deep  sounding  yet  to  bottom." 

"Why,  have  you  any  notion  we  c'n  save  our- 
selves ? " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know — a  way  will  turn  up,  maybe." 

"No,  no,  how  can  we .?  What's  there  for  us  to 
do  if  she  can't  hear  us  ?     She  surely  won't  break 

23 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

out  her  anchor  and  begin  to  cruise  'round  look- 
ing for  us  for  a  long  while  yet;  not  till  morning 
anyway,  for  the  very  fear  that  we,  too,  might  be 
looking  for  the  vessel.  And  they  couldn't  have 
seen  us  when  we  capsized,  could  they  ? 

Dryly  Martin  spat  out  on  the  sea.  "If  we 
couldn't  see  them  in  the  fog,  a  big  vessel  and  high 
rigging,  'tisn't  likely  they  could  see  us,  a  Httle 
dory  flat  out  on  the  water." 

"I  thought  not."  Despair  again  spoke  in  the 
falling  tone. 

"Man,  man,  spare  your  Hps  if  they  won't  shape 
o'  themselves  to  a  little  word  of  courage.  I  didn't 
say  there  warn't  any  hope." 

Bo-o-o-m!  came  over  the  darkening  waters. 

"  Like  a  word  from  home,  that  old  fog-gun, 
isn't  it?"  Martin  had  made  his  way  along  the 
dory's  bottom  until  now  he  lay  beside  his  mate. 
Possibly  for  five  minutes  he  lay  so,  gazing  out 
thoughtfully  along  the  broken  level  of  the  heaving 
sea.     "Ay,  there  is  a  chance." 

The  meditating  pauses  gave  way  then  to  more 
incisive  speech:  "Help  me  get  off  my  oilskins. 
One  hand  at  a  time,  and  between  us  we  can 
do  it.  And  don't  be  so  everlastingly  afraid 
you'll  fall  overboard.  There — there's  the  oil- 
jacket.  Now  the  boots.  Let  'em  go.  'Tis  no 
time  now    for    economy — better    them    than    us. 

24 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

Now  the  oil  pants.  There — the  clothes'll  come 
easier.  Damn,  but  these  wet  underclothes — 
they're  Hke  another  skin,  aren't  they  ?  There 
now,"  and  he  stood  up  on  the  bottom  of  the  dory, 
swaying  easily  to  the  up-hea-ve  of  it.  "Br-h-h — 
but  the  air's  cold.  The  water's  warmer."  And, 
dropping  down  by  the  bow,  immersed  himself 
to  the  neck. 

"What  you  going  to  do,  Martin.? 

"I  thought  of  tryin'  to  swim  to  the  vessel." 

"W-h-a-t!" 

"W-h-a-t— why  not.?" 

"Why,  who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing }  You'll 
never  make  it." 

"No.?  And  what  then?  Will  I  be  any  worse 
off  than  you  here  .?  There's  no  chance  for  us  to  be 
picked  off  to-night,  and  the  skipper  won't  shift  his 
berth  to-night,  for  the  very  reason  you  said  your- 
self— he'll  think  we're  looking  for  the  vessel.  And 
so  he'll  wait  where  we  can  find  him,  as  he'll  think. 
So,  even  if  it  clears  up  to-night,  which  it  won't,  he 
can't  see  us,  and  so  no  chance  for  us  before  morn- 
ing. And  you  can't  last  till  then,  you  say.  And 
there's  one  chance  for  me  to  make  the  vessel. 
Straight  up  the  wind  she  lies,  may  be  three-quar- 
ters of  a  mile,  maybe  a  mile." 

"  K-k-k — and  if  you  don't  ?  Like  a  speck 
you'll  be  on  the  wide  ocean,  tossed  around  in  the 

25 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory- 
sea  and  pushed  back  on  the  tides,  till  you're  used 
up,  and  then- " 

"  Save  your  pity  of  me,  boy.  FU  not  suffer  like 
you  here.  FU  wear  my  body  out — that's  true. 
But  no  long  fear  to  wear  my  mind  out.  Fve 
known  them  that  went  crazy  in  straying  dories, 
and  we're  not  only  astray  but  upset.  Fll  fight  till 
Fm  used  up,  and  then,  before  I  know  it,  Fll  sink 
away  like  a  child  to  sleep,  and  'twill  be  all  over, 
and  Fll  be  gone  where  I  expected  to  be  gone  be- 
fore this — ^where  I  surely  expect  to  go  some  day." 

"Oh,  don't  talk  Hke  that.  But,  Martin,  if  you 
do  make  it?  Just  think,  you  might  make  it — 
you  don't  know  your  own  strength.  It's  common 
talk,  Martin,  your  strength.  Will  you  come  back 
to  me?" 

Martin  cast  the  other's  imploring  arm  from 
him.  "Come  back?  Heavens,  man,  for  what 
do  you  take  me?     Come  back!" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Martin  ?  You 
will  or  you  won't  ?  Oh,  Martin,  I  know  what's 
in  your  mind.  And  I  know  what  that'll  mean  to 
me  ?  Before  morning  Fll  be  standing  before  the 
God  that  made  me,  and,  Martin,  Fm  afraid. 
Martin,  did  Malachi  ever  hint  to  you  of  anything 
between  me  and  you  and  Sarah  ?  Ay,  he  has.  I 
know  he  has.  Malachi  never  did  like  me  much, 
but  since  we  left  on  this  trip  he's  hated  me.     He 

26 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

drew  part  of  it  out  of  me  one  night  on  deck,  and 
I  remember  how  afraid  I  was  to  pass  between  him 
and  the  rail  for  fear  he'd  take  it  into  his  head  to 
throw  me  overboard.  And  he  would,  if  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  it,  and  no  fear  he  wouldn't  sleep 
sound  after  it.  A  terrible  man,  Malachi  Jennings, 
and  hates  me.  Ever  since  he  saw  me  at  Sarah's 
house  before  we  left  home  this  trip,  while  he  was 
on  his  way  to  the  dock  to  go  aboard  the  vessel,  he's 
had  a  grudge  in  for  me.  And  that's  what's  be- 
tween you  and  me,  though  neither  of  us  has  spoke 
of  it,  all  this  trip.  Dory-mates  are  we,  and  yet 
like  strangers.  Martin,  I'll  tell  you  the  whole 
truth.  Sarah  had  promised  to  have  me — in  a 
way.  At  first  she  said  that  she  couldn't  make  up 
her  mind;  but  next  trip  in,  she  said  at  last,  she'd 
have  me  if — if " 

"If  what?"  The  naked  man  in  the  water  rose 
up  beside  the  other,  his  shoulders  and  back  un- 
cannily white  against  the  dark  sea,  and  the  face 
white,  all  white  but  the  staring  dark  eyes. 

Harry  drew  back  in  alarm.  "  Don't  look  at  me  so, 
Martin — don't !  She  said  yes — if  she  weren't  prom- 
ised to  somebody  else  before  the  vessel  went  out." 

"If  she  warn't — to  somebody  else."  Martin  re- 
peated it  slowly.  "And,"  after  a  pause — "and 
she  wasn't  either." 

"Why,  no.     It  couldn't  been  plainer,  of  course. 

27 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

She  was  expecting  you'd  ask  her  before  we  went 
out  this  trip.  And  I  thought  you  would.  And 
I  knew  you  would  if  I  hadn't  been  there,  and  so  I 
took  care  you'd  see  me  at  the  window  as  you 
crossed  the  street  to  come  up  to  the  door;  and  I 
laughing  so,  you  didn't  come  in,  but  went  on  by, 
and  she  sitting  in  back  couldn't  see  how  it  was." 

"And  she  promised  you?" 

"Well,  the  same  as  that.  'If  I'm  not  promised 
to  anybody  else  when  next  you're  home — if  I'm 
not — I'll  marry  you,'  she'd  already  said,  not  know- 
ing that  you  had  come  to  the  door  and  gone  away 
without  ringing." 

The  white  body  sank  into  the  water,  and  like  a 
strange  voice  the  words  came  back  to  the  man  at 
the  plug  strap.  "You  see  our  chance — the  tide 
is  almost  slack  now.  In  an  hour  now  'twill  be 
setting  to  the  southwest,  and  the  westerly  tide  at 
its  height  is  here  like  a  mill-race — 'twill  carry  you 
and  the  dory  out  of  sight  long  before  morning. 
But  in  the  next  hour  or  two  you  won't  drift  far 
from  here,  and  I'll  try  and  make  the  vessel.  If  I 
do,  I'll  be  back  with  a  dory,  and  we'll  find  you, 
don't  fear.  And  don't  get  discouraged  if  I'm 
gone  longer  than  you  think  I  ought  to  be.  I  may 
not  make  the  straightest  course  for  the  vessel,  for, 
after  all,  she's  a  small  speck  for  a  man  to  be  scan- 
ning the  wide  ocean  for  on  a  dark  winter's  night 

28 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

— and  a  man's  head  so  low  when  swimming  that 
he  can't  see  too  far.  But  they're  keeping  the  fog- 
gun  going — there  it  is  again;  but  fainter,  which 
means  that  we're  further  away  than  we  were. 
They'll  keep  it  going  all  night.  Malachi  would 
stay  awake  a  week  to  do  that  for  me  if  there 
warn't  another  soul  aboard  her.  Malachi  and 
me — we  like  each  other  pretty  well,  and  I  hate  to 
think  of  leaving  him.  But  I'm  going,  and  in  case 
we  never  see  each  other  again,  good-by  to  you." 

With  a  great  fear  Harry  saw  the  white  shoulders 
slip  away  from  his  side.  From  the  level  of  the 
dory's  bottom  he  gazed  along  the  sea,  till  he  could 
no  longer  see  the  gleam  of  the  white  skin.  He 
listened,  and  faintly  he  could  hear  the  strokes  of 
arms  and  legs  kicking  through  the  water. 

Suddenly  it  flashed  on  him — it  was  all  a  trick! 
Why  hadn't  he  thought  of  it  before  ^  Martin,  a 
mighty  man  in  the  water,  would  make  the  vessel. 
And  Martin  would  not  come  back.  And  why .? 
Because  he,  and  not  Martin,  had  her  promise. 
That  was  why.  She  would  never  go  back  on  her 
word,  not  while  he  held  her  to  it.  But  if  he  were 
lost,  how  easy  it  would  all  be  for  Martin!  And 
for  her,  with  Martin,  there  would  be  small  regret 
for  his  own  self  dead  and  gone. 

"Martin!     Martin  Carr!"  he  shrieked.    "Don't 
leave  me!     Don't  leave  me  here  alone!" 
-       29 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

But  no  word  came  back  to  him;  and  he  could 
no  longer  even  hear  the  steady,  powerful  strokes 
of  Martin  Carr  struggling  with  the  heavy  waves. 

Now  and  again  the  swimmer  lifted  his  head 
and  sought  to  pierce  the  darkness,  but  even  from 
the  crest  of  the  rolling  seas  he  doubted  if  he  could 
have  made  out  the  vessel  ten  feet  away.  Rather 
to  rest  himself  than  for  any  other  purpose  were 
those  little  pauses — 'twas  a  long  road  before  him. 

Onward  he  strove.  In  smooth  water  or  on  a 
clear  night  he  would  have  had  but  small  doubt  of 
the  outcome.  Straight  for  her  light  he  would  steer 
then — it  would  mean  only  lasting  it  out.  Even  if 
he  were  hours  on  his  quest  he  would  have  made 
it  in  any  kind  of  light;  but  now  there  was  only  in- 
stinct for  his  course,  and  the  chill  of  the  water  was 
numbing  his  muscles,  even  as  the  over-roll  of  the 
waves,  which  he  could  not  always  forecast,  some- 
times caught  him  unawares  and  took  his  breath 
away.  It  was  hard  telling  at  times  whether  he 
was  going  ahead  at  all.  Once  he  looked  back  to 
see  if  he  might  make  out  the  dory  and  thereby  judge 
of  his  course,  but  in  a  moment  he  realized  how 
foolish  that  was.  Certainly  his  judgment  could 
be  no  longer  sound,  which  meant  that  his  strength, 
like  the  tide,  must  be  ebbing.  And  recalling  the 
man  on  the  dory's  bottom:  "Blast  him,  he's  no 
good — he  never  was — and  for  myself  I  could've 

30 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

hung  on  till  morning.  Yes,  and  a  lot  longer,  but 
now  Vm  in  for  it." 

He  battled  on  and  found  his  brain  was  not:  al- 
together dulled.  All  the  tales  he  had  ever  heard 
of  men  lost  in  fog  and  snow  came  back  to  him;  all 
the  men  that  ever  went  astray  in  dories  and  were 
found  later,  dead  from  hunger  or  exhaustion,  or 
it  might  be  frozen  stiff,  recurred  vividly  to  him. 
And  that  man  back  there,  what  if  he  were —  ?  Yet 
he  was  worth  no  better — and  a  good  woman  to  have 
him,  and  Sarah  above  all  women!  Faugh!  What 
was  right .?  That  he  should  return  and  get  him  ? 
Would  he — if  it  was  the  other  way  about — come 
back  for  him,  Martin  Carr  .?  Would  he  ?  Martin 
laughed  aloud  to  think  of  it,  even  as  he  struggled. 

Bo-o-o-m!  At  the  report  fresh  courage  came 
back  to  him.  It  seemed  nearer.  A  long  battling 
and  it  sounded  again — Bo-o-o-m!  Again — but 
what  a  long  wait  between!  Martin  could  barely 
Hft  his  arms  through  the  sea,  he  was  that  tired, 
and  began  to  realize  that  the  end  might  be  at  hand, 
and  with  the  thought  all  the  stories  he  had  ever 
heard  of  men  drowning  alongside  the  vessel  flashed 
into  his  brain  again. 

Bo-o-o-m ! 

"What  an  everlastingly  mournful  sound — like 
minute-guns  for  the  dead." 

B-oo-o-m ! 

31 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

"Fainter,  that's  sure.  Fm  falling  off.  YouVe 
got  to  bid  higher  up,  Martin  Carr." 

Po-o-o-m ! 

"Nearer,  but  no  time  yet  to  waste  breath  in 
hailing." 

Bo-o-o-m ! 

Still  faint  it  was,  and  yet  from  out  of  the  snow 
loomed  phantom  lights  and  high,  vague  shadows 
of  phantom  sails. 

Boom!  The  flash  of  it  was  almost  blinding, 
and  the  shock  enough  to  deafen.  No  phantom 
gun,  anyway.  "God!  I  must  be  some  tired,"  he 
observed;  "so  near  and  not  to  suspect  it" — and 
lifting  a  hand  he  felt  the  side  of  the  vessel.  But 
there  was  nothing  to  hold  to,  and  the  sea  threat- 
ened to  throw  him  against  her  planking.  Pa- 
tiently he  shoved  off  and  made  for  the  bow.  And 
not  till  then,  with  a  hand  to  her  straining  cable, 
did  he  hail. 

To  Malachi  Jennings,  on  watch  and  somewhat 
worn  with  anxiety,  came  the  first  faint  call.  "  God ! 
spooks!"  he  muttered.  "Spooks  from  out  the 
black  sea — if  a  man  believed  in  spooks." 

"Hi-i — the  Ariadne!''  a  stronger  hail,  for  to 
Martin  by  then  the  breath  was  returning. 

"No  spook  that,"  exclaimed  Malachi,  and 
looked  about  uncertainly.  "Where  away  the 
dory  ? "  he  shouted. 

32 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

"No  dory,  Malachi,  but  a  tired  man  wants  a 
hand!" 

"Martin,  by  God!"  and  he  leaped  for  the  knight- 
heads,  and  there  found  him,  by  now  cHnging  to 
the  bobstay.  Over  the  bow  dropped  Malachi. 
"A  ghost,  Martin,  I  thought  it  was  first;"  but  no 
further  babbling  before  he  took  a  turn  of  a  line 
about  the  white,  naked  body,  and  directly  had  him 
on  board. 

"Where's  Harry  ?  Glory  be — God  forgive  me 
for  saying  it — but  is  he  gone  ?" 

"No,  but  waiting,  Malachi." 

"Waiting  ?     For  who  ?  for  what  ?" 

"For  a  dory  to  be  put  over  and  pick  him  ofF. 
He's  lying — so" — Martin's  arm  pointed — "a  good 
mile — ten  miles,  I  thought  it  one  time.  But  call  it 
a  mile  straight  down  the  wind." 

"And  would  you  go  back  for  him  ?  For  that 
chalk  and  water  image  of  a  human  being  ?  God, 
man,  it's  all  in  your  hands  now — leave  him  there." 

"No,  no,  no,  Malachi — we  must  do  what's 
right." 

"And  what's  right  in  this  case?  A  creature 
like  him  to  be  placed  ahead  of  you  ?  He  never  was 
any  good  nor  never  will  be,  while  you — man,  leave 
this  to  me.  Sometimes  disillusioned  men  like  mc 
win  hope  of  heaven  by  watching  out  for  overtrust- 
ful  men  like  you,  Martin  Carr." 

33 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

Footsteps  hurried  toward  them.  The  skipper's 
face  broke  into  the  yellow  circle  of  the  riding  light 
under  which  they  were  now  standing.  "What's 
it,  Malachi  ?     And  what's  that — a  man  ?" 

"It's  Martin,  Skipper.  His  dory's  capsized, 
and  he's  swam  aboard." 

"Man  alive,  how  did  you?  And  where's 
Harry?" 

"Gone,  Martin  thinks.  Skipper;"  and  to  the 
tired  man  whispering:  "Hist  now,  leave  it  to  me," 
and  turning  to  the  augmenting  group  on  deck: 
"Quit  asking  him  questions  and  give  him  a  mug 
of  coffee." 

"Sure,  a  mug  of  coffee — this  way,  Martin,"  and 
helped  him  below. 

Into  the  fo'c's'le  Martin  staggered,  and,  his  nak- 
edness covered,  dropped  on  the  locker  nearest  the 
galley  stove,  and  drank  the  mug  of  coffee  they 
brought  him.  Before  he  had  quite  finished  they 
poured  him  out  another,  and  sat  around  and  dis- 
cussed the  fate  of  Martin's  dory  mate. 

"So  Harry  is  gone?     Well,  that's  hard,  too." 

"Yes,  though  I  never  could  warm  up  to  him;  but 
when  a  man's  lost  it's  different." 

"Poor  Harry!  Well,  there  was  a  bit  of  good  in 
him,  too.     And  lost  at  last!" 

Martin  had  been  coming  out  of  his  stupor.  He 
gazed    from    one    to    the    other.     "Who's    lost? 

34 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

Harry  ?  Who  said  he  was  lost — me  ?  No,  no — 
God,  man,  no!" 

"What,  he's  not!  Not  lost,  you  say,  Martin  ?" 
It  was  the  skipper  himself  who  grasped  his  arm. 

"No,  no,  no!  Over  with  a  dory  and  put  her 
straight  for  where  I  said  and  you'll  get  him.  And 
keep  the  gun  going  all  the  time,  never  a  let-up — 
play  tunes  with  it.  By  that  he'll  know  Fm  aboard 
and  'twill  cheer  him  up  while  he's  waiting.  Over 
with  a  dory — quick!" 

The  skipper  jumped  for  the  companionway. 
"Sling  a  dory  over  the  side." 

"Ay,  go  straight  down  the — "  but  the  reaction 
setting  in,  he  leaned  back  with  closed  eyes. 

"That's  enough,  Martin."  Malachi  was  beside 
him  on  the  locker.  "You're  tired,  man — turn  in. 
You  told  me  how  the  dory  bore.  I'm  going  in 
her  with  the  skipper  and  we'll  get  him." 

Martin  gazed  blankly  after  the  retreating  boot- 
legs of  Malachi,  and  rubbing  his  forehead  and 
turning  to  the  cook:     "What  was  it  he  said.?" 

The  cook  jumped  to  his  side.  "Martin,  man, 
you're  all  gone.  There,  you're  staggering  again. 
Another  mug  of  coffee  now.  And  here,  tumble 
into  this  bunk." 

The  creak  of  the  rope  and  block  came  down  to 
them  from  the  deck.  Martin,  about  to  roll  into 
the  seductive,  handy  bunk,  hesitated,  turned  out 

35 


On  the  Bottom  of  the  Dory 

onto  the  locker,  and,  gazing  up  the  companion- 
way,  asked:  "Isn't  that  the  dory?" 

"Sure." 

A  splash  on  the  water  dented  the  tense  silence 
below.  "There,  she's  over  the  side,  Martin. 
Don't  worry — they'll  get  him,  the  skipper  and 
Malachi." 

"Malachi.?  Let  me  by.  Stand  aside — aside, 
man!" 

"Steady,  Martin.     You're  weak — He  down." 

"Weak?"  He  tossed  the  cook  to  the  fore- 
bulkhead  and  rushed  on  deck.  Malachi  was 
pushing  the  dory  from  the  side  of  the  vessel. 
"Towind'ard,  Skipper,"  he  was  saying.  "Straight 
up  the  wind,  Martin  said." 

"No,  but  to  le'ward.  Skipper,  straight  down  the 
wind — and  to  make  sure,  I'll  go  myself,"  and 
leaped  from  rail  to  dory. 

"Oh,  Martin,  Martin,"  groaned  Malachi— "A 
great  soul  you,  but,  sometimes,  I  think,  a  damn 
fool  too." 

Down  the  wind  went  the  dory. 


36 


THE  BLASPHEMER 


The  Blasphemer 

THEY  were  fitting  out  the  Julia  Has  kins  for 
a  salt-fishing  trip,  and  a  cask  of  beef  was 
about  to  be  hoisted  aboard.  An  easy  package  it 
should  have  been  for  the  three  lumpers  to  handle, 
two  on  the  dock  to  hoist  and  one  to  guide  and 
receive  it  on  the  vessel's  deck  below;  but  these 
were  careless — one  paused  midway  to  look  at  an 
incoming  ItaHan  bark.  "They  say  she's  got 
twenty  thousand  tubs  of  salt  in  her  hold,"  he  ob- 
served. "No!"  exclaimed  his  mate,  and  also 
turned  his  head.  Down  between  dock  and  vessel 
plopped  the  cask. 

The  lumpers,  leaning  over  string-piece  and  rail, 
gazed  down  at  where  it  disappeared  in  the  muddy 
water,  then  stood  up  and  eased  their  souls  with 
three  separate  strings  of  oaths;  particularly  he 
who  was  most  to  blame,  whose  eyes  had  been  first 
diverted  by  the  green-painted  bark. 

The  man  who  should  have  been  most  concerned, 
master  and  owner  of  the  vessel,  he  who  would  have 
to  pay  the  bill,  did  not  step  a  foot  nearer  the  scene 
of  the  catastrophe ;  merely  looked  toward  the  men 
at  fault  and  said:    "I  callate  that's  gone.     You 

39 


The  Blasphemer 

mightVe  been  more  careful,  Charley,  but  get  a  move 
on  and  go  ahead  with  the  rest  of  the  stores.  And 
one  of  you  go  up  to  the  office  and  tell  'em  to  send 
down  another  cask  of  beef." 

Old  Peter  and  the  usual  staff  of  assistants  up 
in  Crow's  Nest  had  observed  the  incident  of  the 
cask.  And  now,  when  they  saw  that  the  cask  was 
gone  beyond  all  hope  of  salvage,  they  all  drew  long 
breaths  and  began  to  talk  at  once.  "Did  you  see 
that,  Peter?  And  he  never  let  a  yip  out  of  him. 
Why  there's  some  skippers  would  have  skinned 
those  lumpers  alive!  And  swear?  Why,  just 
imagine  what" — and  named,  one  after  the  other, 
a  dozen  well-known  masters  of  vessels.  "Why, 
they'd  been  a  smell  of  hot  copper  blowing  up  here 
long  afore  this.     Why  is  that,  Peter,  d'y'  s'pose  ?" 

Peter  turned  to  them.  "Why  d'y'  s'pose? 
It's  before  any  of  you  were  old  enough  to  be 
allowed  to  loaf  around  here;  but  if  you  won't  let 
that  fire  die  down,  I'll  tell  it.  Pity  among  seven 
of  you  you  can't  put  one  piece  of  wood  in  the  fire." 
He  had  to  stop  then  to  put  the  glasses  on  a  sail 
that  was  lifting  above  the  horizon  at  Eastern  Point. 
His  face  had  taken  on  a  sudden  animation.  "It's 
queer  now  if  it  should  be  her — but  time  enough," 
and  carefully  laid  down  the  glasses. 

"This  man  below,  Jed  Stevens,  that  never 
40 


The  Blasphemer 

opened  his  mouth  a  while  ago,  where  many  another 
man  might  Ve  considered  he  had  justification,  came 
of  a  family  of  swearers.  He  had  an  older  brother, 
Lewis,  was  the  awful  man  at  it.  I  mind  there  was 
a  particular  main  boom  that  the  owners  sent  down 
to  his  new  vessel  one  day  and  Lewis  didn't  like  the 
looks  of  it,  and  swore  so  hard  over  it — four  lines  of 
rhyme  he  made  of  it — that  he  went  home  and  died. 
Busted  a  blood-vessel  or  something.  Well,  when 
Lewis  died  everybody  said  that  Jed  would  keep 
up  the  reputation  of  the  family  as  he'd  grow  older. 
And  he  did.  For  sheer  out-and-out  capacity  to 
swear  I  d'  know  but  what  he  could  outdo  Lewis. 
Only  he  couldn't  make  poetry  of  it.  However, 
he  was  the  awful  man  with  the  language,  and  for 
that  reason  alone  hard  to  get  along  with.  Good 
men  don't  care  to  have  a  skipper  swearing  at  'em 
day  and  night.  Men  used  to  come  and  go  with 
him  so  fast  that  he  rarely  carried  the  same  crew 
two  trips  in  succession.  His  own  brother  Mark — 
the  youngest  of  the  three  brothers,  a  fine  young 
fellow,  and  who  didn't  have  the  gift  of  swearin' — 
left  him  that  way.  And  that  worried  Jed,  who 
thought  a  lot  of  Mark — a  lot  more  than  ever  he  let 
on.  He  went  out  of  his  way  to  get  him  to  come 
back,  but  Mark  said:  *No;  when  you  learn  to 
control  your  tongue,  I'll  ship  with  you — not  till 
then.' 

41 


The  Blasphemer 

"In  those  times  Jed  used  also  to  get  pretty 
drunk  now  and  then.  One  trip  he  started  out 
that  way — kept  the  jug  between  his  knees  all  the 
way  to  the  grounds,  and  never  moved  to  his  meals, 
just  sat  there  and  drank — straight  from  the  jug, 
bothering  with  no  mug  or  glass  on  the  way.  The 
second  night  out  it  came  on  to  blow  pretty  hard, 
and  the  vessel  began  to  groan  under  it.  But 
luckily  not  much  sea  in  the  beginning  and  also 
lucky,  it  bein'  winter,  that  she  warn't  carryin'  her 
topm'sts;  but  even  with  her  four  lowers  it  was 
gettin'  too  much  for  her.  She  was  rolling  down 
outrageously,  but  nobody  dared  to  take  any  sail 
off  her  without  the  skipper's  orders,  and  he  was 
drunk  in  his  bunk,  half  comin'  to  himself,  and 
getting  up  for  another  drink  every  few  hours, 
swearing  while  he  was  drinkin',  and  then  rollin' 
back  again. 

"Well,  the  old  Jonathan  Edwards  dived  along, 
taking  most  of  it  aboard.  We  could  do  nothing 
but  batten  down  everything  and  let  her  go,  hopin' 
the  skipper  would  come  to  himself  before  'twas  too 
late.  He  did  come  to  after  a  while — sixteen  hours 
on  end  he'd  slept — and  rolled  out  of  his  bunk  and 
began  to  notice  things.  First,  he  noticed  that  the 
companionway  was  closed  tight.  *Open  up  them 
hatches  and  give  us  some  air,'  he  snarled,  and  a 
string  of  blue  oaths  with  it. 

42 


The  Blasphemer 

"The  boards  was  no  more  than  slid  out  of  the 
way  when  a  sea  came  pouring  into  the  cabin  and 
set  everything  that  was  loose  adrift.  The  sight  of 
the  water  didn't  soften  his  temper  any.  He 
swashed  around  in  it  in  his  stockin'  feet  and  swore 
harder  than  ever.  *  That's  what  I  like  to  see/  he 
says — 'the  old  girl  givin'  herself  a  bath,'  and  a 
second  deluge  piled  up  over  the  lockers  and  into 
the  lee  bunks. 

"He  thought  he'd  take  a  look  outside  then,  but 
hadn't  got  his  head  out  the  companionway  when 
down  upon  him  tumbled  a  little  mountain  of  water 
— it  nigh  to  floated  him  down  the  cabin  steps. 
Well,  he  swore  and  blasphemed  worse  than  ever 
at  that.  He'd  go  on  deck,  he  would,  if  the  entire 
blasted  ocean  was  to  roll  over  him.  And  he  did, 
not  yet  altogether  sober,  and  climbs  out  on  deck 
and  holds  on  by  the  wind'ard  corner  of  the  house. 

"*You  blasted,  blear-eyed  dogfish,  how's  she 
behavin'  ^ '  he  roars  to  Ben  Garland,  who  had  the 
wheel. 

"'She's  not  behavin','  Ben  fires  back  at  him. 
'She's  got  more  sail  on  than  any  mortal  vessel 
should.' 

"'But  this  is  no  mortal  vessel — she's  the  devil's 
own,  and  I'm  the  devil's  own  boy.  Did  you  know 
that,  Bennie  ?  No  .?  Well,  that's  what — I'm  the 
devil's  own  boy,  and  you're  one  of  my  crew.     And 

43 


The  Blasphemer 

the  Old  Boy'll  stand  by  his  own,  never  you  worry/ 
and  more  of  that  kind  of  talk,  and  then,  crawling 
over  to  the  main  riggin'  and  happening  to  look  to 
windward,  he  spies  for  the  first  time  the  Grenada, 
3,  fine  vessel  which  had  come  upon  us  during  the 
afternoon. 

"He  begins  to  swear  at  her  and  at  her  skipper. 
*  There  he  is.  Bob  Miller,  the  dog's  whelp,  who  took 
my  brother  away  from  me,'  and  then  from  cursin' 
Miller,  began  cursin'  the  sea,  and  back  again  to 
the  Grenada  and  Bob.  '  But  FU  head  him  off — 
I'll  head  him  off.  I  know  the  little  spot  he's  beat- 
ing up  for,  and  I'll  be  there  and  have  a  dory  over 
afore  him.' 

"And  the  wind  kept  comin'  harder,  and  every- 
thing aboard  her  under  an  awful  strain.  There 
were  queer  lights  on  the  water  and  her  sheets  were 
like  iron  bars.  *  Skipper,'  calls  whoever  it  was  to 
the  wheel,  *if  you  don't  take  something  off  her 
soon,  I'll  cut.' 

"*You  cut  and  I'll  cut  you — cut  your  blasted 
head  off.'  But  'twarn't  blasted  nor  no  such  mild 
word  he  used,  but  a  word  that  made  my  blood  run 
cold.  *Go  for'ard,  you  milk-and-water  son  of  a 
she-wolf,  and  let  a  man  take  the  wheel.  Cut,  will 
you  ?  Cut .?  Not  if  her  trucks  was  rolling  under. 
Go  for'ard.' 

"With  him  in  that  state  of  mind  we  ran  onto  the 
44 


The  Blasphemer 

grounds  and  alongside  the  Grenada,  which  being 
a  big  sailer,  a  lot  faster  than  the  Jonathan,  was 
there  hours  before  us.  It  was  a  wicked  morning. 
On  the  Grenada  they  were  hove-to,  with  only  the 
watch  on  deck,  plainly  waiting  for  it  to  moderate 
before  they'd  put  a  dory  over.  The  skipper  ran 
the  Jonathan  up  under  the  Grenada's  quarter  and 
hailed.  Everybody  came  on  deck  at  his  voice. 
Jed*s  young  brother,  Mark,  I  mind  was  there — a 
fine-lookin'  young  fellow  he  was,  too — the  pride  of 
all  Jed's  people. 

"Young  Mark  called  out,  'Hello,  Jed!'  for  with 
all  the  other's  backslidings  he  couldn't  help  having 
a  young  fellow's  affection  for  an  older  brother. 
But  Jed  didn't  notice  him,  only  began  to  swear 
and  blaspheme  at  Miller. 

"'And  so  you're  afraid  to  put  a  dory  over? 
And  there's  owners  that  give  your  kind  a  vessel. 
Bob  Miller  ?  Well,  I'll  show  you  up — and  right 
now.'  And,  'Wind'ard  dory  to  the  rail!'  he  orders. 

"Over  on  the  Grenada,  as  we  could  see.  Miller 
could  hardly  believe  it;  but  seein'  our  dory  to  the 
rail,  he  began  to  get  nervous,  for,  you  see,  the 
partic'lar  spot — the  Gully  'twas  called,  new  dis- 
covered then — was  full  of  halibut,  and  whatever 
skipper  got  their  trawls  out  first  would  get  the 
fish  in  the  first  of  their  hunger.  On  the  Grenada 
they  didn't  want  to  put  their  dories  over,  no  more 

45 


The  Blasphemer 

than  we  did  on  the  Jonathan,  but  you  know  how 
it  is — no  crew  of  men  goin'  fishin'  Hkes  to  stand 
by  and  let  another  crew  shame  'em.  And  no 
skipper  is  goin'  to  stand  by  after  bein'  dared  as 
Bob  Miller  was  by  Jed  Stevens.  No,  sir,  he  isn't 
goin'  back  to  Gloucester  and  have  people  throw 
that  in  his  face  as  he  walks  down  the  street. 
So  Bob  orders  a  dory  to  the  rail,  too.  Through 
the  mist  we  could  barely  see  him,  we  havin'  drifted 
away  some  by  then,  but  bein'  to  looard  we  could 
hear  his  voice. 

"Well,  we  all  felt  that  no  dory  could  live  in 
that  sea,  but  what  could  we  do  ?  The  last  thing 
a  man  wants  to  have  said  of  him  is  that  he's  afraid 
to  do  what  other  men  stand  ready  to  do.  We 
hoisted  the  dory,  and  Ben  Garland  threw  in  two 
skates  of  trawls.  Ben's  and  my  dory  it  was. 
Over  went  the  dory  and  with  it  Ben  and  myself 
to  the  rail,  him  to  the  stern  and  me  to  the  bow 
falls,  waitin'  for  a  chance  to  leap  into  it.  Ben 
leaped  and  I  leaped.  And  then  came  a  roar, 
and  over  us  like  a  tidal  wave  tumbled  what  I 
thought  was  the  whole  blessed  ocean.  Up  against 
the  side  of  the  vessel  went  the  dory  smash!  and 
kindhng  wood  was  made  of  it.  Across  the  rail 
cvf  the  vessel  I  went  close  by  the  main  riggin', 
which  I  grabbed  and  clung  to  till  the  crew  helped 
me  aboard.     I  was  the  lucky  man.     Two  of  my 

46 


The  Blasphemer 

ribs  stove  in,  but  I  didn't  know  that  till  later. 
But  not  so  Ben.  *  Peter's  all  right,  but  Ben's 
gone!'  I  heard  somebody  call  out,  even  while  I 
was  still  floating  around  on  the  break  tryin'  to 
find  my  feet.  The  next  thing  I  heard  the  skipper 
shriekin'  like  a  mad  man,  *No,  he  ain't — I  got 
him!'  And,  sure  enough,  he  had  grabbed  Ben  as 
he  was  goin'  by  the  quarter.  .  Even  as  we  looked, 
Ben,  with  the  skipper's  help,  was  dimbing  over 
the  rail.  'Didn't  I  tell  you  the  devil  takes  care 
of  his  own,  Bennie?'  the  skipper  was  sayin',  and 
began  a  new  blasphemin'  to  make  your  blood 
curdle. 

"Suddenly  somebody  yells,  *Let  the  main  sheet 
run!'  I  looked  and  saw  the  squall,  and,  knowin* 
what  was  meant — that  she'd  never  stand  with  the 
mains'l  taking  it  full,  that  she'd  capsize  or  else 
take  the  spars  out  of  her — with  a  couple  of  others 
I  jumped  aft,  all  of  us  roarin',  *  Your  main  sheet, 
Skipper!' 

"The  skipper,  still  blaspheming  at  Ben,  didn't 
make  out  what  we  were  so  excited  about,  and 
when  I  rushed  for  the  sheet,  and  he  saw  what  I 
would  be  at,  he  grabbed  me.  And  then  we  had  it, 
the  pair  of  us  wrestlin'  for  the  sheet.  His  hand 
was  to  my  throat  and  my  fingers  to  his  windpipe. 
I  mastered  him  and  was  about  to  cast  off  the  end 
of  the  sheet  when  it  came — a  blast  of  wind  and  the 

47 


The  Blasphemer 

followin'    sea,  and   over  she  went  on  her  beam 
ends. 

"We  considered  ourselves  gone  then  and  rushed 
up  to  the  wind'ard  side  of  her  to  hang  on  to  what 
we  could  and  for  as  long  as  we  could  before  she 
went  down.  And  while  we  were  clingin'  there, 
some  in  the  fore  and  some  in  the  main  rigging, 
Ben  and  myself  on  what  part  of  the  wind'ard 
quarter  was  out  of  water,  the  skipper  all  at  once 
gripped  my  arm.  I  c'n  feel  the  grip  to  this  day. 
*  Peter,  Peter,  look  there  and  tell  me  d'you  see  it, 
too!  Maybe  it  isn't  so,  Peter.'  He  was  crouched 
over  the  rail,  his  body  shrinking  and  one  hand  up 
to  his  head  as  if  he  was  afraid  something  was  going 
to  strike  him,  and  what  I  could  see  of  his  face  was 
the  color  of  one  of  the  gray  seas  that  was  hissing 
around  us  in  the  queer  light  of  that  wicked  morning. 
And  he  took  his  hand  down  and  looked  again  from 
the  vessel,  searching  the  crests  of  the  nearest  seas 
to  wind'ard,  and  we  looked  where  he  was  lookin', 
and  there  was  nothing.  And  we  said,  *  Where, 
•  Skipper,  where  V  and  looked  again,  and  that  time 
we  saw  what  it  was — close  by  the  vessel's  side  now. 
Driftin'  by  under  her  counter,  under  our  feet 
almost,  it  was — the  dead  body  of  Mark  Stevens, 
the  eyes  from  out  of  the  drenched  dead  face  staring 
up — God,  yes — at  his  brother,  as  if  reproaching 
him.     *My  judgment!'  says  Jed,  that  time  not 

48 


The  Blasphemer 

even  raising  his  voice.  Man,  'twas  awful,  and  as 
we  looked  it  drifted  off  astern  of  the  vessel  and 
sank  slowly — slowly — from  out  of  sight — if  you 
can  imagine  a  body  sinkin'  that  way  and  at  the 
same  time  bein'  buffeted  about  in  the  sea.  Lookin' 
farther,  we  saw  what  was  left  of  a  stove-in  dory 
atop  of  another  curvin'  sea,  and  we  knew  what  had 
happened.  They  had  tried  to  launch  a  dory 
same  as  we  did.  And  what  had  nigh  happened  to 
Ben,  my  dory-mate,  was  what  had  actually  hap- 
pened to  Mark  Stevens,  and  our  vessel  bein'  nigh 
and  to  looard  of  them,  his  body  had  been  tossed 
down  to  us."  Peter  pressed  the  lids  over  his 
eyes.     "Terrible — terrible — but  so  it  was." 

The  Italian  bark  had  come  to  anchor,  and 
Peter  had  to  stop  to  admire  her.  "A  handsome 
craft  that — aye,  a  noble  vessel.  Why  don't  we 
have  fleets  of  those  under  our  flag .?  And  twenty 
thousand  tubs  of  salt  I  hear  she  has  in  her.  And 
there! — Jed  Stevens  '11  probably  take  his  salt  from 
her — four  hundred  tubs  he  gen'rally  takes.  And 
when  he's  wet  four  hundred  tubs  he'll  sure  have 
some  fish  in  her  hold."  Peter  paused  while  he 
glanced  down  to  the  Julia  Haskins,  in  whose  stern 
was  now  her  skipper,  standing  with  ha.  off,  gazing 
seaward. 

Peter's  eyes  shone  with  pity.     "I've  seen  him 

49 


The  Blasphemer 

stand  there  and  look  out  like  that  a  hundred  times. 
And  always  quiet,  just  like  you  see  him  now,  and 
as  if  wonderin'  at  something  or  other  out  to  sea; 
as  if  he  was  fearful  of  something  or  other — as  I 
believe  he  is.  And  now  with  that  vessel  coming 
in — but  maybe  you  noticed  a  while  ago  that  he 
never  looked  over  the  side  of  the  vessel  after  that 
cask  of  beef  sank  almost  under  his  feet  ?  That's 
because  it  went  down  under  her  port  quarter. 
To  this  day  he  can't  bear  to  stand  on  deck  and 
look  under  the  port  quarter  of  a  vessel.  At  sea 
he  won't  even  heave  the  lead  from  her  port  quarter 
— he'll  bring  her  to  on  the  other  tack  before  he'll 
do  that.  It  was  under  her  port  quarter  he  saw  his 
brother's  body  drifting.  He'll  look  far  away  and 
off  from  that  quarter,  but  never  down  and  under 
her  counter." 

"And  he  don't  blaspheme  any  more,  Peter.?" 
"Blaspheme!  I  don't  beheve  he  ever  even 
thinks  of  blasphemin'  now.  No  milder-mannered, 
nor  more  temperate  man  sails  out  of  Gloucester 
to-day.  Queer  how  human  nature  works,  isn't 
it.?  I  used  to  think  that  long  before  this  he'd  be 
back  to  his  old  ways,  but  he  never  has.  But  let 
me  see.*'  Peter  directed  his  glasses  toward  the 
horizon.  "That  one  standing  in — it  is  the  old 
Grenada — the  sight  of  her  on  the  horizon  brought 
it  all  back  to  me.     A  dog  in  her  day,  the  Grenada, 

50 


The  Blasphemer 

She  sailed  five  mile  to  the  Jonathan  s  four  that 
passage  out,  spite  of  the  sail  we  tried  to  carry. 
And  took  us  off — lassoed  us  off  the  deck  of  her 
afore  she  sank  that  morning.  Let  me  see — seven 
weeks  on  a  halibut  trip — ^bout  time  she  showed 
up.  No,  Jed  don't  even  swear  any  more.  But, 
man,  man,  what  he  had  to  go  through  afore  he 
came  to  it!" 


51 


THE  COMMANDEERING  OF 
THE  LUCY  FOSTER 


The  Commandeering  of  the 
Lucy  Foster 

THE  word  had  been  passed  that  Wesley  Marrs 
was  in  from  another  slashing  trip  from  For- 
tune Bay;  and  sure  enough  there  was  the  match- 
less Lucy  tied  to  her  dock,  but  no  sign,  at  the  mo- 
ment, of  her  redoubtable  master.  However,  a 
hint  from  the  crew  and  a  search  disclosed  him — 
but  of  all  places! 

In  Perry's,  the  picture  framer's,  was  Wesley, 
leaning  over  the  low  counter;  and  a  sheet  of  brine- 
stained  paper  was  in  one  hand,  and  his  face  was 
smiling  as  a  sunlit  sea.  "And  do  a  good  job  on 
it,"  he  was  saying  to  the  clerk;  "oak,  or  cherry,  or 
ebony,  or  whatever  'tis  is  the  swell  thing  in  frames. 
And —  Hah  }  who  ?"  At  another  word  from  the 
clerk  he  looked  toward  the  door.  "HuUo-o-oh, 
boy!  Come  in,  come  in.  What?  Somethin' doin' 
when  I  got  that,  did  y'  say  ?  Was  there !  Ho — ho — 
ho — ^was  there  ? 

"We  was  in  Fortune  Bay,'*  began  Wesley, 
"layin'  to  old  John  Rose's  wharf  in  Folly  Cove. 

55 


The  Commandeering 

And  John  had  thirteen  or  fourteen  hundred  bar- 
rels of  frozen  herrin'  spread  out  on  the  scaffolds 
and  along  the  beach  near  by,  and  'twas  a  sight 
you'd  sail  a  hundred  mile  to  see — them  fine,  fat, 
frozen  fish  layin'  out  there  under  the  winter  sky. 
And  John  and  me'd  pretty  nigh  come  to  one  way 
of  thinkin'  about  a  price  for  them  same  herrin', 
when  along  comes  the  Gover'ment  cutter.  And 
they  hails  me,  and  asks  me  if  I  didn't  think  I'd 
better  be  gettin'  under  way  and  headin'  for  home, 
or  anywhere  else — it  didn't  matter  much  where, 
so  long's  'twas  away  from  the  Newf'undland  coast. 

"Nacherally,  I  said  I  didn't  see  why  I  should, 
and  mildly  enough,  too,  I  said  it — mildly  enough, 
that  is,  considering.  There  was  differences  of 
opinion,  to  be  sure,  on  the  herrin'  rights  of  Ameri- 
can and  Newf'undland  fishermen,  but  one  man's 
opinion  was  as  good  as  another's  till  it  was  settled. 

"'But  no  man's  opinion  ain't  nigh  as  good  as 
the  Gover'ment's,'  says  the  cutter's  commander, 
and  damn  abrupt,  too,  he  was. 

"*I  dunno,'  I  says.  *It  depends  on  whose  Gov- 
er'ment's  ' 

"'Well,  my  Gover'ment's,  gen'rally,'  he  butts  in 
again;  'but  this  time  your  Gover'ment's.' 

"'When  I  see  it  I'll  believe  it,'  I  says. 

"'Well,'  and  he  whisks  a  paper  out  of  his 
pocket  and  slaps  it  under  my  nose.     An  American 

56 


of  the  Lucy  Foster 

newspaper,  too,  it  was,  which  you  think'd  have  a 
good  word  for  Gloucester.  You  know  the  paper, 
and  I  know  it,  which's  never  yet  hesitated  to  slam 
Gloucester's  interests.  Now  it  had  the  opinion 
of  this  chap  in  Washington,  and  we  all  know  him. 
You  know  how  long  he'd  hesitate  to  sacrifice 
Gloucester  and  all  New  England — ^yes,  and  the 
whole  country,  if  need  be,  for  a  foreign  policy  of 
his  that  three-quarters  of  the  people  of  this  coun- 
try don't  want.  This  interview  with  him  said 
that  the  contentions  of  the  American  fishermen 
as  to  their  herring  rights  could  probably  not  be 
upheld  before  an  international  court  of — m — m — 
adjudication,  that's  it.  And  on  another  page, 
the  one  where  this  was  put — no  pictures  or  dis- 
patches— editorial  page,  yes — Curtin  pointed  out 
more  to  the  same  effect;  that  no  doubt  Gloucester 
would  come  to  her  senses  now  and  that  may  be 
the  legislators,  the  Congressmen  and  the  power- 
ful Senator,  who  had  hitherto  succeeded  in  block- 
ing the  wheels  of  international  something  or  other, 
would  halt — and  so  on. 

"*What  do  you  think  now?'  says  Curtin; 
*your  great  American  statesman.' 

"* Great  slush!'  I  says.  *And  him  an  Ameri- 
can I  Why,  he's  no  more  American  than  you  are. 
Captain  Curtin.  He  only  happened  to  be  born 
in  America.     Why,  he's  got  as  much  use  for  most 

57 


The  Commandeering 

American  people  as  for  gorillas  in  the  jungle.  He 
probably  thinks  men  like  me  and  the  gorillas 
pretty  near  the  same  class.  Government  by  him  ?' 
I  goes  on.  *Why,  his  notion  of  a  good  Gov- 
ernment is  to  have  the  laws  so  that  the  pufFy-eyed, 
heavy-jowled  chaps  from  the  mahogany  offices 
can  sleep  easy  nights.  Anything  that  interferes 
with  the  comfort  of  that  kind  of  people  is  bad 
Government;  but  for  you  and  me  and  men  like  us 
— the  men  that  have  to  sail  the  sea,  and  them  that 
dig  in  the  mines,  that  cut  the  timber  in  the  winter 
woods,  or  that  plough  the  prairie,  or  do  any  of 
those  hundred  things  whereby  a  man  brings  some- 
thing into  his  country  that  wasn't  there  before — 
to  hell  with  us!  You  blasted  lick-spittle!  d'y' 
imagine  Fm  intendin'  to  be  bound  by  your  notion 
of  what  law  is  ? '  I  says  and  punches  the  picture 
of  his  whiskered  face  in  the  paper.  I  only  wished 
I  had  himself  instead. 

"Oh,  I  was  good  and  mad,  and  the  thought  of 
them  herrin'  that  old  John  Rose  had  spread  out 
there,  it  didn't  make  me  feel  any  better.  I  turns 
to  Curtin.  *Do  you  really  mean  that  I  got  to  get 
out  this   bay  ? ' 

"*I  do  just  that,  Captain  Marrs,'  he  says. 
*  And  to  make  sure  that  you  do  go — for  I  can't  stay 
hangin'  around  here  forever  to  watch  you — here's 
a  gentleman  will  see  that  you  do.     I've  instruc- 

58 


of  the  Lucy  Foster 

tions  from  St.  John  to  put  this  gentleman  aboard 
you,  and  his  orders  are  to  stay  aboard  till  you're 
well  out  the  bay/ 

"Well,  I  was  fit  to  be  triced  to  the  main  riggin'. 
But  he  had  me,  his  steam-cutter  and  his  guns; 
my  vessel  locked  into  a  little  harbor  and  not  so 
much  as  a  duck  gun  aboard.  So,  though  I  hove 
some  lovin'  glances  back  at  old  John  Rose  and 
them  fourteen  hundred  barrels  of  fine,  fat,  frozen 
herrin',  I  swings  the  Lucy  out,  with  the  gentleman 
from  St.  John's  wavin'  pleasantly  from  the  Lucys 
quarter  to  the  commander  of  the  cutter  on  his 
bridge. 

"This  chap  the  cutter  had  put  aboard  to  watch 
me  was  a  new  appointee  of  the  Crown,  he  told 
me.  He  meant  well  enough ;  but  why  is  it  so  many 
of  those  chaps  think  there's  something  about 
themselves  that's  so  much  ahead  of  anything  that 
can  ever  come  out  of  you  and  me  ?  A  large  man, 
he  was — not  big,  but  large — ^you  know  that  kind 
— pleasant-lookin'  enough,  only  his  eyes  had  about 
as  much  color  and  fire  as  a  boiled  hake's — you've 
seen  the  washy  eyes  of  a  boiled  fresh  hake — ^yes  ^. 
Hah  ?    Goes  better  if  it's  well  salted  ?    It  cert'nlydo. 

"And  so,  I  callate,  would  this  chap,  who  began 
to  tell  me  all  about  himself  right  away — had  been 
up  and  down  the  coast  of  his  own  country  in  some 
little  steamer  on  some  Crown  commission  or  other, 

59 


The  Commandeering 

and  never  seasick  in  his  life.  No,  sir,  never. 
And  maybe  so,  though  to  offer  that  as  proof  that 
you're  cut  out  for  a  seaman  is  about  as  sensible  as 
to  say  that  if  the  smell  of  fresh  paint  don't  make 
you  sick  to  your  stomach  then  the  Lord  intended 
you  for  a  painter.  Ain't  that  about  so  ?  Sure 
it  is.  But  what  this  chap  didn't  know  of  the  sea! 
He  told  me  of  his  coming  across  the  Atlantic. 
One  day,  though,  it  did  blow!  My  word,  yes. 
Near  as  I  could  make  out,  she  took  some  water 
over  her  bow  one  day  and  wet  down  some  fat  old 
unsuspectin'  ladies  that  was  baskin'  on  the  sunny 
side  of  the  main  deck.  A  great  storm — ^yes,  it 
must  've  been. 

"Just  outside  the  bay  the  Lucy  ran  mto  a  nice 
breeze  o'  wind,  and  I  took  the  stays'l  off  her,  for 
you  see  she'd  started  her  topm'st  on  the  run  down, 
and  I  misdoubted  the  stick  'd  stand  the  stay'l  and 
that  gaff  tops'l  both  pulling  on  it  to  once.  If  it 
warn't  the  stick  was  weak  and  I  expected  to  use  it 
later,  I'd  no  more  taken  that  stays'l  off  that  day 
than  I'd  taken  off  my  undershirt  'cause  of  the  heat 
— and  it  the  fourteenth  of  December.  But  seeing 
it  come  off,  this  chap  says,  *Hah,  the  storm  too 
strong  for  her.  Captain  ? ' 

"'Storm?'  I  says.  'What  storm.?  And  too 
strong  for  the  Lucy?  For  the  Lucy!*  I  says, 
and  as  I'm  standin'  here  'twas  no  more  than  the 

60 


of  the  Lucy  Foster 

pleasantest,  cheerfullest,  agreeablest  weather  imag- 
inable— a  proper  sailin'  breeze,  just  what  a  doctor 
who'd  ordered  a  sea  voyage  for  an  invaHd  would 
've  had,  with  no  more  sea  than  to  barely  save  the 
gang  from  washin'  down  decks  next  mornin'. 

"Thinkin*  his  remarks  over  during  that  night 
while  we  were  rolling  about  outside  the  bay  put 
ideas  into  me.  And  thinkin'  again  of  them  four- 
teen hundred  barrels  of  fine,  fat,  frozen  herrin' 
back  to  old  John  Rose's  made  me  say  to  myself: 
*  Wesley,  but  you'll  sure  go  down  in  Gloucester's 
history  as  cert'nly  a  damn  fool  if  you  don't  manage 
to  get  them  herrin',  statesman,  cutter,  and  Crown 
commissioner,  notwithstandin'.' 

"And  the  breeze  makin',  d'y'  see,  I  turns  to 
the  Crown  job  chap.  'By  the  way' — and  I  was 
deferential  as  hell,  don't  you  think  I  warn't — 'by 
the  way,  sir,  where  was  I  to  take  you  to  ? ' 

"'Why,  out  of  Fortune  Bay.' 

"  *  Yes,  but  then  where  ?    We're  out  the  bay  now.' 

"'Why,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.' 

"Well,  I  thought  that  was  about  as  intelligent 
as  he  looked.  Didn't  know!  Get's  aboard  a 
vessel  and  don't  know  where  she's  bound.  But 
it  was  good  business  for  me,  and  I  gave  him  time 
to  think  it  over.  His  was  a  brain  that  needed  a 
lot  of  time  before  it  got  to  workin'  so  you  could 
notice  it. 

6i 


The  Commandeering 

"*Why,  where  are  you  goin'  to?'  he  asks  after 
a  while* 

"'Well,  my  home  port's  Gloucester.' 

"* Gloucester ?     That's  in  the  States,  isn't  it?' 

"*What!'  I  says. 

"'Yes,  yes,  I  think  I've  heard  of  it.  Captain. 
Oh,  dear  me,  yes — a  fishin'  village,  but  I  don't  re- 
member seein'  it  on  any  map.' 

"Well,  I  could  have  hove  him  over  where  he 
stood — a  fishin'  village!  Village!  There,  thinks 
I,  is  another  of  them  that  imagines  that  in  Glou- 
cester the  fishermen  live  in  little  huts  on  the  beach 
and  every  evenin'  after  putting  out  the  cat,  we 
takes  a  lantern  and  looks  our  little  boats  over,  and, 
maybe  with  the  wife  and  children  to  help,  hauls 
'em  a  foot  or  two  higher  on  the  beach  so  the  flood 
tide  won't  float  'em  off"  durin'  the  night.  Village! 
And  not  on  the  map!  'Why,  you  pink-haired 
tea-drinker,'  I  came  near  sayin'  'Gloucester's 
all  over  the  map.'  But  I  didn't.  I  did  say, 
though,  'Gloucester's  the  greatest  fishin'  port  in 
the  world,'  a  bit  warm  may  be. 

"'Oh!' he  says. 

"'Oh!'  I  ohs  after  him.  'And  I  don't  know 
but  what  I'll  run  for  there,'  but  at  the  same  time, 
mind  you,  havin'  no  more  notion  of  goin'  home 
without  a  load  of  herrin'  than  of  dumping  our  grub 
over  the  side. 

62 


of  the  Lucy  Foster 

"Well,  the  air  'round  there  freshened  up,  till  it 
got  to  be  what  you  might  call  a  tidy  little  breeze 
o*  wind,  and  the  Lucy,  bein*  light,  was  hopping 
something  scandalous.  We'd  taken  out,  d'y'  see, 
most  of  her  ballast  before  leavin'  home,  but  so  she 
mightn't  blow  over  altogether  on  the  run  down  to 
Newfoundland,  we'd  stowed  away  about  thirty 
tons  of  small  rocks  in  her.  But  in  anticipation  of 
gettin'  them  herrin',  all  that  loose  rock  that  was 
intended  to  keep  her  from  capsizin'  had  been  hove 
out  alongside  old  John  Rose's  wharf  in  Folly  Cove, 
and  now  she  was  up  on  top  of  every  wave  like  one 
of  them  empty  air-balls  that  you  sometimes  see 
dancin'  on  top  of  a  column  of  water  out  on  the 
front  lawns  of  swell  houses. 

"Now,  mind  you,  this  warn't  no  bad  gale  o' 
wind  all  this  time,  but  'twas  plain  enough  our  pas- 
senger thought  the  devil  and  all  was  runnin' 
amuck  over  the  ocean.  May  be  the  Lucys  be- 
havior helped  out  the  notion.  There's  nothing 
logy  about  the  Lucy,  you  know,  even  when  she's 
got  all  her  hundred  ton  of  pig  iron  cemented  next 
her  keelson.  But  now  she  was  leapin'  like  a  gamb'- 
Hn'  goat  on  a  green  mossy  hillside,  only  there 
warn't  no  moss  growin'  anyway  'round  her.  But 
'twas  cert'nly  amusin'  to  watch  her — that  is,  if 
you  were  acquainted  with  her  ways  and  knew  she 
meant  no  harm. 

63 


The  Commandeering 

"  But  this  chap  knew  nothing  of  the  Lucys  quali- 
fications. And  he  knew  damn  less  of  the  sea, 
and  pretty  soon  he  was  grippin'  the  weather  rig- 
gin'  and,  by  the  expression  of  his  face,  wonderin' 
how  much  longer,  I  guess,  before  she  was  goin'  to 
the  bottom.  Fd  no  notion  startin'  off  that  his 
features  could  hold  so  much  emotion.  And  the 
crew  were  lookin'  properly  scared,  too,  for  Fd 
tipped  'em  off  early  that  they  mustn't  be  too  gay 
when  on  deck.  *A  tempest  of  this  magnitude,' 
I  says  to  them  'is  a  terrible  thing.  So  behave 
according.'     And  they  did. 

"After  a  time  I  told  the  Crown  chap  I  thought 
he  ought  to  go  below  and  have  a  mug  of  coffee, 
and  'twas  ticklin'  to  see  him  pull  himself  together 
for  that  dash  to  the  hatch.  He  cert'nly  must  've 
thought  he  was  takin'  his  life  in  his  hands  when 
he  let  go  that  riggin'.  What  I  wanted  to  get  him 
below  for  was  so  he'd  have  a  look  at  what  loose 
water  was  on  the  floor  of  the  forec's'le,  for,  of 
course,  you  know  it's  nothing  again'  the  Lucy  if, 
after  her  years  of  hard  drivin'  and  sail-carryin', 
her  for'ard  planks  is  a  bit  loose.  Cert'nly  not. 
Only  nacheral — sure — that's  what  I  say — three- 
inch  plankin'  bein'  only  three-inch  plankin'  after 
all.  In  the  forec's'le  the  men  were  swashin'  around 
with  the  water  to  their  knees.  It's  a  sight  I've 
noticed  that  always  impresses  a  shore-goin'  man. 

64 


Our  passenger  thought  the  devil  and  all  was   runnin'  amuck  over 

the  ocean. 


of  the  Lucy  Foster 

Itcert*nly  impressed  the  Crown  appointee  this  time. 
He  gets  one  good  look — *  My  God ! '  he  says,  *  she's 
sinking!'  and  rushes  up  on  deck  and  takes  a  fresh 
turn  of  himself  around  the  riggin'. 

"  Then,  to  help  things  along,  I  pulls  Tony,  the 
cook,  into  it.  *  Didn't  I  see  you  with  a  pair  of  ro- 
sary beads  the  other  day  when  you  was  overhaulin' 
your  diddy-box?'  I  asks  Tony.  And  he  says 
yes,  he  had  a  pair  his  wife  gave  him,  and  I  asks 
him  wouldn't  he  get  'em  out  and  do  a  little  prayin' 
where  he  could  be  seen.  *Why  for?  why  for?' 
demands  Tony,  quite  indignant,  mind  you.  I  had 
to  explain  it  to  him.  *Now,  Tony,'  I  says,  *it's 
this  way.  Half  the  sea  stories  that's  ever  been 
written  has  always  some  kind  of  a  dago,  when 
'tisn't  a  Frenchman,  droppin'  to  his  knees  and 
mumblin'  his  prayers  when  maybe  he  ought  to  be 
cuttin'  away  the  spars  or  mannin'  the  pumps. 
And  what  I  want  you  to  do  now,  Tony,  is  to  go 
up  on  deck  and  live  up  to  your  reputation.' 

"Well,  Tony'd  be  damned  if  he  would,  and  said 
there  was  never  a  Portugee  yet  didn't  have  more 
courage,  even  if  they  didn't  write  books  about  it, 
more  than  any  damn  Englishman  that  ever  lived. 
England  ?  Huh !  Where  was  they  when  Alfonse 
Hairikay,  where  was  they  when  Bartly  Diaz, 
where  was  they  when  Vasco  da  Gammar  or  some 
such    chap,    and    he    mentioned    a    dozen    other 

6s 


The  Commandeering 

names  that  Fd  never  heard  of  before,  and  I  doubt 
if  anybody  else  ever  did.  Even  Jim  Riley,  v^ho's 
something  of  a  schoolmaster,  said  they  were  past 
him. 

"*Now,  Tony,  I  knov^  all  that,'  I  says.  'Fve 
had  your  kind  for  tv^enty-six  years,  and  in  that 
many  v^inters  and  summers  in  small  vessels  on 
the  North  Atlantic  a  man  does  see  some  blue  times. 
Tve  never  seen  one  of  you  quit  yet;  but  that  ain't 
it,  Tony.  'Tisn't  your  national  pride  nov7,  Tony. 
Consider,  Tony,'  I  says,  *them  fourteen  hundred 
barrels  of  fine,  fat  herrin'  up  to  Fortune  Bay,  and 
the  wad  of  bills  you'll  be  handin'  over  to  the  wife, 
and  the  children.  And  Tony,  consider  them  black- 
eyed,  curly-haired  rascals  roUin'  their  little  blue 
wheel-barrows  or  haulin'  their  little  red  sleds  all 
over  the  hill  this  winter,  if  ever  the  Lucy  sees  them 
herrin'  in  her  hold,  for  if  ever  she  does,  Tony,  all 
the  cutter  commanders  and  Crown  commissioners 
and  statesmen  from  here  to  hell  won't  get  'em  out 
the  Lucy  till  the  gang  hoists  'em  out  to  her  dock  in 
Gloucester.' 

"And  Tony  warmed  up  and  said  he  would, 
only  he  wouldn't  use  no  rosary.  He  took  a  pocket- 
ful of  yellow-eyed  beans  out  of  the  stores  instead, 
and  goin'  up  on  deck  he  flops  down  by  the  for'ard 
hatch,  as  near  under  the  lee  of  the  dories  as  he 
could  get,  one  eye  out  for  what  comfort  there  was, 

66 


of  the  Lucy  Foster 

and  starts  in.  And  not  such  a  bad  job,  either. 
He  lowers  his  head  to  the  deck  and  says  something. 
And  he  looks  aloft  and  says  something,  I  don't 
know  what.  But  I  know  that  with  every  bend  he 
takes  a  yellow-eyed  bean  out  of  his  pocket  and 
heaves  it  overboard;  and  up  and  down,  heavin' 
the  yellow-eyed  boys  over,  he  goes  on.  And  Jim 
Riley — he  never  passes  the  Crown  commissioner 
without  makin'  an  act  of  contrition.  'Oh,  oh, 
oh,  the  sinner  Fve  been!'  moans  Jim,  by  way  of 
completin'  the  picture. 

"All  this  time  the. vessel  'd  been  workin'  back 
toward  the  bay  and  Fortune  Head  warn't  far 
away,  and  all  at  once  a  ledge  of  rock  shows  up 
under  our  lee.  We  waited  till  the  passenger  saw 
it,  which  he  did  pretty  quick,  for  you  c'n  be  sure 
he  warn't  overlookin'  any  of  the  nacheral  dangers. 
*  Rocks!'  he  yells.  'Where — away?'  says  I,  and 
springs  to  the  riggin',  with  my  hand  shadin'  my 
eyes.  And  half  the  gang  on  deck  springs  to  the 
riggin',  and  every  blessed  one  of  'em  shades  his 
eyes  with  his  hands  and  says,  'Where  away,  sir?' 

"'Off  to  stawboard,'  says  he. 

"'Sure  enough,'  I  says,  and  'Sure  enough,'  re- 
peats the  gang,  and,  '  Cripes,  but  what  an  eye  that 
gentleman's  got!'  adds  Riley. 

"'We  must  work  her  off,'  I  says. 

"'Will  you  be  able  to?*  inquires  our  friend. 

67 


.    The  Commandeering 

"*I  dunno/  I  answers,  *  whether  we  will  or  no, 
but  I  hope  so,  'cause  it's  a  bad  place — and  the 
harbor  of  Saint  Peer  is  around  the  corner,'  I  added, 
which  it  warn't,  knowin',  too,  that  all  he  cared  to 
know  was  was  it  solid  land.  The  Pewee  Islands 
would  've  suited  him  just  then — anything,  I  cal'- 
late,  that  warn't  floating  around  loose  in  the 
ocean. 

"*Yes,  I'll  try  to  make  it,'  I  goes  on,  and  I 
gathered  the  crew  together  and  tells  'em  we  were 
in  a  tight  place  and  to  die  like  men,  and  read  'em 
a  lecture  on  our  priceless  heritage  and  the  im- 
mortal courage  of  our  ancestors.  Did  y'  ever  try 
to  make  up  such  a  speech  as  you  imagine  a  man 
like  our  passenger  'd  like,  and  have  listenin'  to 
you  a  couple  of  Rileys  and  Sullivans,  and  a  French- 
man from  the  Miquelons,  and  a  few  others  whose 
grand-people  had  been  privateersmen  in  1812  ? 
No  ?  Well,  you  don't  ever  want  to — it's  disturbin'. 
I  winds  up  mine  by  suddenly,  much  to  his  surprise, 
yanking  Tony  off  the  hatch.  *  You  cowardly  dago, 
be  a  man!'  I  says  to  Tony,  and  he  didn't  like  it. 
A  little  more  and  I  think  he'd  mutinized  on  me. 

"And  we  were  makin'  out  fine,  only  just  when 
the  passenger  was  almost  brightenin'  with  joy 
came  more  danger.  The  Lucy  got  caught  aback 
— myself  to  the  wheel,  yes — and  down  for  the  rocks 
she  was  borne.     Well,  there  were  the  jagged  devils 

68 


of  the  Lucy  Foster 

all  but  under  our  stern,  and  that  man  sweated 
blood  from  his  very  heart,  Til  bet,  before  she  took 
the  wind  again  and  was  safe  away. 

"Man,  but  how  the  gang  standin'  round  deck 
puffed  their  cheeks  at  each  other!  Everybody 
but  Tony,  who'd  gone  below  disgusted.  Some 
of  'em  was  even  more  thankful  than  the  passenger, 
you'd  think,  and  he  was  shrinkin'  up  again'  the 
lanyards,  that  he  hadn't  let  go  for  a  second  in  the 
past  four  hours.  *My  God!'  he  gasps,  ^what  a 
narrer  escape!' 

"*Narrer?  Well  you  might  say  it!'  I  says. 
*The  narrest  I've  had  in  twenty-six  years  of  fishin*. 
And  after  that,  you  c'n  see,  sir,  it  wouldn't  do  to 
try  and  get  by  those  rocks  to  make  Saint  Peer.' 

"*No,  no,  no,'  he  says;  *but  can't  you  run  her 
in  some  safe  place  ? ' 

" 'There's  one  place  I  could  safely  make  for  with 
the  wind  the  way  it  is,'  I  says.  *  There  is  just  one 
place  in  the  world  where  I  could  go,'  I  says,  *but 
I'm  not  allowed  to.' 

"* Where's  that?'  he  says 

"'Fortune  Bay.' 

"*Why  not.  Captain .?  Why  not?  In  case  of 
life  or  death ' 

"'Not  even  for  Hfe  or  death,  sir,  could  I  without 
the  embargo  was  lifted  off  the  vessel.  If  I  was  to 
put  into  Fortune  Bay  now  and  the  cutter  find  me 

69 


The  Commandeering 

• 

there,  my  vessel  would  be  confiscated  by  the  Gov- 
ernment.' 

"Them  light-colored  pop-eyes  of  his  almost  took 
on  a  shine.     *  But  wouldn't  my  orders  release  you  ? ' 

"*H-m,'  I  says.  'H-m — I  hadn't  thought  of 
that.     Do  you  think  it  would,  sir.?' 

"*Why,  of  course  it  would.  If  the  Crown's 
agent  can  order  you  to  do  a  thing,  then  the  Crown's 
agent  can  release  you.  The  home  Gover'ment 
takes  precedence  over  any  colonial  or  local  Gover'- 
ment.    Can't  you  see  that.?' 

*"Well,'  I  says,  slow  and  ruminatin'-like.  *H-m 
— I  dunno — m-m ' 

"'Look  here,'  he  breaks  in,  and  you'd  'a'  died 
if  you  could  seen  him  clingin'  to  the  lanyards,  tak- 
ing a  fresh  hold  every  once  in  a  while  when  a  hogs- 
head or  two  of  spray  would  break  over  them.  And 
whoever  was  to  the  wheel  always  took  care  he  got 
'em  reg'larly — ^you'd  'a'  laffed,  though  Lord  knows, 
nothin'  but  death  itself  could  'a'  unhooked  the 
grip  he  had  to  begin  with.  Well,  to  hear  him  there 
try  in'  to  overcome  my  objections  to  goin'  into 
Fortune  Bay — Jim  Riley,  passin'  by,  had  to  say, 
*And  are  people  really  taxed  to  give  jobs  to  the 
Hkes  o'  him  ? ' 

"* That'll  do  you!'  I  says  to  Jim. 

"*What  was  it  he  said?'  asks  the  home  Gov- 
er'ment chap. 

70 


of  the  Lucy  Foster 

"*Only  his  weak  heart/  I  answers  him,  *sayin* 
if  we  don't  do  something  soon  we'll  be  lost — ves- 
sel and  all  hands/ 

"He  broke  into  fresh-  argument  then,  but  I 
didn't  give  in  till  we  both  happened  to  overhear 
Dal  Hawkins  saying  to  Riley:  *It's  fine  to  have 
respect,  same's  the  skipper  has,  for  the  Crown; 
but  I  do  hope  he'll  change  his  mind  soon,  for  cer- 
t'nly  it's  beginnin'  to  look  blue  for  us  around  here/ 
Dai's  speech  made  a  great  impression.  You  know 
Dal — a  hard,  gray-faced,  serious  man,  the  iron- 
nerved  man  of  the  old  story  books,  y'  know — ^yes. 

"'Well,'  I  says,  *when  Dal  Hawkins  talks  of 
death  and  danger,  maybe  it's  time  to  do  something, 
and  I'll  go,  provided,  sir' — and  I  looked  judicial 
as  hell  saying  it — *  provided  you'll  make  it  a  com- 
mand and  put  it  in  writin'/  And  we  went  below 
and  got  out  pen  and  ink,  and  when  he  thawed 
out  some  he  wrote  it  out.  And  never  a  suspicion 
entered  the  soul  of  that  Crown  appointee  while 
he  was  writing  it  out  why  the  vessel  lay  so  easy. 
Hove  to,  y'  see,  so  he  could  write,  she  was  layin' 
like  a  duck  in  a  pond.  Up  to  that  time  we'd  been 
puttin'  her  any  old  which  way  to  make  her  hop. 

"He  was  done  at  last.  'There  it  is,  all  properly 
worded,'  he  says,  and  read  it  out.  And  there  it 
was — and  here  it  is  now  again/' 

Wesley  reached  across  the  counter  and  took  the 
71 


The  Commandeering 

paper  from  the  clerk.     "Here  it  is,  listen — dated 
December  the  fifteenth. 

"22?  whom  it  may  concern : 

"It  is  by  my  command  that  Wesley  Marrs,  master  of 
the  American  schooner  Lucy  Foster^  returns  with  me  to 
within  the  Hmits  of  Fortune  Bay,  there  to  land  me  at' 
some  port  to  be  later  designated;  and  it  is  also  by  my 
command  that  the  said  Wesley  Marrs  be  allowed  to  remain 
with  his  vessel,  the  said  Lucy  Foster,  at  some  safe  anchorage 
within  the  Hmits  of  the  said  Fortune  Bay  until  the  violence 
of  the  present  storm  shall  have  abated." 

Wesley  paused.  His  auditor,  looking  over  his 
shoulder,  interjected,  "But  there's  more  to  it." 

"Sure  there  is,  a  tail  to  it — postscript,  yes. 
I'm  coming  to  that — that's  separate.  'Twas  me 
made  him  add  that  on  after  he  thought  'twas  all 
complete.  When  you're  on  a  job  there's  nothin' 
like  doin'  it  up  right,  is  there }  Sure  there  isn't. 
Well,  Hsten,"  and  Wesley  read  further: 

"P.  S. — The  said  Wesley  Marrs  wishes  it  understood 
that  he  does  this  much  against  his  will. 

"Warn't  that  a  good  one — hah  ?  Much  against 
his  will!  And  violence  of  the  storm!  Ain't  that 
good — hah,  what?  And  when  we  dumped  him 
off  at  a  little  port,  Charlemagne,  just  inside  the 
bay,  he  was  that  grateful  he  gave  me  a  cigarette- 
holder,  a  beautiful  Httle  yellow  thing  with  gold 

72 


of  the  Lucy  Foster 

edges — here  'tis,  see — about  as  useful  to  me  as 
one  of  those  Japanese  kimonos  that's  marked 
three  forty-eight  in  the  store  windows  these  days. 
But  when  I  get  up  to  the  house  FU  make  a  whistle 
of  it  for  the  baby. 

"Well,  after  we'd  put  him  ashore  I  sent  word 
by  a  jack  over  to  old  John  Rose's  place,  and  was 
intendin'  to  wait  for  dark  to  sHp  out  after  it;  but 
one  of  the  gang  who'd  rowed  our  passenger  ashore 
— and  nacherally  stopped  to  have  a  drink  while  he 
was  there — came  back  with  the  word  that  that 
fool  Crown  man  'd  been  tellin'  the  natives  what  a 
narrer  escape  the  vessel  had  off  the  harbor  o'  Saint 
Peer,  and  they  got  askin'  him  all  about  it,  and  one 
of  'em,  gettin'  more  curious,  says,  *What  time 
was  it  you  left  here  ?'  And  he  tells  him.  'H-m,' 
sniffs  the  doubtin'  one,  looking  at  the  clock,  *  she's 
a  big  sailor,  the  Lucy  Foster,  but  she  no  more  than 
any  other  vessel  ever  built  can  come  forty-five 
mile  in  an  hour  an'  a  half.' 

"And  so  we  decided,  without  waitin'  for  the 
further  judgment  of  the  Crown,  that  the  violence 
of  the  storm  had  abated,  and  put  over  to  old  John 
Rose's  place.  And  we  anchored  to  a  spring 
cable  in  Folly  Cove  that  night,  and  cert'nly 
them  herrin'  looked  beautiful  as  so  many  solid 
silver  fish  in  the  moonlight. 

"'He,  he,'  cackles  old  John.     *I  knowed  ee'd 

73 


The  Commandeering 

be  back.  How  much,  Wesley,  be  un  goin'  to  give 
for  them  herrin  ?' ' 

"*A  dollar  and  a  half,  John — say  twenty-one 
hundred  dollars  and  not  stop  to  count  'em.  That 
is,  John,  I  would  only  for  the  Crown  law,  John.' 

" '  Perish  the  Crown ! '  says  loyal  John.  *  Twenty- 
one  hundred  dollars — take  'em  away.' 

"We  loaded  by  night  and  we  loaded  by  day,  and 
when  all  was  below  I  drove  for  open  water,  for  I 
was  afeared  the  word  'd  been  passed  to  the  cutter. 
And  sure  enough  it  had,  but  not  till  we  were 
abreast  of  Cannaigre  did  we  get  a  sight  of  her. 
We  warn't  so  far  off  but  I  knew  Curtin  could  see 
the  Lucy  was  drawing  a  whole  lot  more  water  than 
she  lawfully  should — his  law.  But  what  he  really 
thought  about  it  we  never  learned.  We  didn't  let 
him  get  near  enough  to  tell  us,  but  to  help  enlighten 
him  I  had  Riley  in  his  schoolmaster's  hand  make 
a  fair  clean  copy  of  that  Crown  document.  And 
I  marked  it  'attest'  and  a  'true  copy,  Wesley  Marrs,' 
and  further  put  on  the  gill  of  a  herrin'  by  way  of 
a  red  seal,  and  rememberin'  that  in  my  coat  pocket 
was  a  length  of  ribbon  I  pulled  from  off  my  little 
girl's  head  before  leavin'  home,  I  got  that,  and  cut- 
ing  off  about  four  inches  of  it,  pinned  that  on  by  way 
of  a  blue  seal,  and  I  said,  'There,  my  royal  com- 
mander, there's  a  proper  Crown  document  for  you,' 
and  stuffed  it  in  an  empty  quart  bottle  of  the  three- 

74 


of  the  Lucy  Foster 

black-letters  brand  which  Dal  Hawkins  'd  been 
usin'  for  linseed  oil,  he  said — but  no  smell  of  oil  in 
it — and  corked  it  tight  and  made  it  fast  to  an  old 
keg  and  hove  the  whole  thing  overboard. 

"And  by  and  by  we  could  see  them  hauling  it  over 
the  side,  after  which  I  didn't  linger  around,  but 
takes  out  the  chart  and  draws  one  straight  line  from 
Cannaigre  Rock  to  Cape  Sable,  and  another  from 
Cape  Sable  to  Eastern  Point,  and  down  them  two 
lanes,  with  fourteen  hundred  barrels  of  fine,  fat, 
frozen  herrin'  in  her  hold,  the  Lucy  came  a-snortin'." 

Wesley  turned  to  the  clerk.  "And  be  sure  you 
do  a  good  job  on  it,  Joe.  Don't  spare  no  expense, 
mind — the  best  of  oak,  or  cherry,  or  ebony,  or 
whatever's  the  latest  thing  in  frames.  And  when 
it's  done  I'm  goin'  to  tack  it  over  the  little  oil 
painting  of  the  Lucy  on  the  east  wall  of  what  my 
wife  calls  the  drawin'-room.  And','  Wesley  turned 
toward  the  door — "what's  that.?  A  Httle  touch? 
Well-1-1,  seein'  it's  so  brisk  a  mornin',  and  the  fifty- 
odd  cold  hours  we  was  on  the  passage,  I  don't 
know  but  what  I  owe  a  little  somethin'  warmin' 
to  my  system." 

In  the  saloon  opposite  Perry's,  with  the  hollow 
of  one  foot  resting  on  the  under-rail,  an  elbow 
resting  on  the  bar,  Wesley  poured  out  his  drink 
and  raised  it  up,  but  presently  set  it  down  again 
to  gently  roar:  "Hah!  hah!  ^by  my  orders,  and 

75 


The  Commandeering 

much  against  his  will  does  Captain  Marrs  do  this'! 
Ho!  ho!  And  yet,"  reflectively,  "that  wants  a 
finishin'  touch.  By  rights  I  ought  to  been  there 
when  Curtin  met  that  Crown  chap — and  be  sure 
he  did — and  pointin'  that  out  to  him,  asks  him, 
*  But  did  you  really  write  that  ? '  Hah,  hah !  ho,  ho ! 
Well" — Wesley  raised  his  glass — "hopin'  that 
every  cargo  of  herrin'  out  o'  Newfoundland  will 
come  as  easy,  and  that  we'll  never  meet  any  worse 
Crown  chaps  than  that  one — here's  a  shoot!" 

"And  now" — Wesley  hauled  his  cloth  cap  down 
over  his  brow — "to  see  about  them  herrin*.  I  was 
offered  three  twenty-five  coming  into  the  dock, 
but  I  think  I  c'n  do  a  shade  better  than  that,  for 
you  bet  there  won't  be  any  herrin'  come  out  of 
Fortune  Bay  in  a  hurry  again.  And  if  I  get  three- 
fifty,  say,  it  won't  be  too  bad,  will  it — hah — for  a 
poor  ignorant  fisherman  that  don't  know  interna- 
tional law  from  a  Japanese  proclamation  of  war  ? 
Oh,  we  poor  slobs  o'  fishermen!  Hah,  hah! 
*Much  against  his  will,  and  by  my  orders'!  Ho, 
ho!  wouldn't  that  melt  any  loose  ice  you  might 
have  'round  your  deck — hah,  what  .'^  But  don't 
mind  me  any  more.  Come  on  down  and  lay  your 
eyes  on  the  Lucy  again.  She  c'n  most  talk,  that 
vessel.     Come  and  have  a  peek  at  her." 

And  out  the  door  and  down  the  street  swung 
Wesley,  whistling  blithely. 

76 


THE  ILLIMITABLE  SENSES 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

IT  was  one  of  those  nights  that  sometimes  come 
to  Georges:  air  without  motion,  sea  serenely 
still. 

One  by  one  the  men  coiled  in  their  lines,  left 
their  berths  by  the  vessel's  rail,  salted  down  the 
fish,  went  below,  turned  into  their  bunks,  and  soon 
were  sleeping  soundly.  All  but  three  or  four,  who, 
with  the  passenger,  were  not  yet  wearied;  and 
these  presently  began  to  wonder,  and,  after  a  while, 
to  venture  guesses  as  to  when  the  skipper  would 
come  below.  They  could  hear  him  walking  the 
quarter,  evidently  striving  to  tread  softly,  but 
clearly  failing,  for  one  who  had  a  mind  to  sleep, 
turning  again  in  his  bunk,  cried  querulously,  "I 
wish  the  old  man  'd  get  out  of  those  red-jacks." 

"Hush,  boy,"  interposed  old  Bob,  who  knew 
the  skipper  longest;  "something's  vexed  him. 
He'll  work  it  off,  and  then  he'll  come  and  tell  us 
what  it  was  about." 

And  he  came  below  at  last,  but  not  yet  in  his 
usual  good  temper.  Plainly  it  was  as  old  Bob  had 
said — something  had  vexed  him;  and  as  nobody 
as  a  rule,  has  much  to  say  on  a  fishing  vessel  while 

79 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

the  skipper  is  put  out  about  anything,  so  now 
respectful  silence  held  the  cabin — held  until,  after 
the  various  uneasy  movements  and  rumbling 
sighs  which  in  him  betokened  disappointment  as 
well  as  vexation,  he  at  length  settled  into  his  chair 
and  began  the  preparations  for  the  long-delayed 
night  smoke;  whereat  gentle  leading  questions 
were  inserted  into  the  silence,  first  by  old  Bob,  then 
by  the  less  venturesome,  all  with  a  view  to  draw 
the  master,  who  took  no  immediate  heed,  but 
exactly  cut  the  tobacco  and  filled  the  bowl,  care- 
fully tamped  the  brown  weed  with  his  forefinger, 
and  smartly  drew  the  match  across  his  thigh. 

Pu-u-f-f!  pu-u-f-f!  pu-ufF!  pufF!  Gradually  he 
established  a  good  draught;  slowly  the  marks  of 
annoyance  faded  from  his  brow — which,  incident- 
ally, was  a  fine  brow,  with  noticeable  development 
above  the  deep-set,  glowing  eyes,  and  of  a  white 
that  lay  like  a  broad  band  between  the  bronze  of 
cheek  and  chin  below  and  the  iron  gray  of  the 
thick  hair  above.  At  length,  as  he  would  have 
said  himself,  he  eased  his  sheets  and  let  her  run. 

"Did  ever,  when  you  were  walking  along  the 
street,  hear  a  child  utter  some  foul  word  that  he 
probably  no  more  knew  the  meaning  of  than  if 
'twas  a  bit  of  some  foreign  language  ?  Yes,  of 
course.  We  all  have;  and  never  heard  but  what 
we  felt — not  angry,  altogether,  but  grieved  and 

80 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

shocked  to  think  of  what  an  upbringing  that  child 
was  getting.  Well,  that  was  something  like  the 
way  I  felt  to-night  when  up  on  deck  young  Russell, 
because  some  little  thing  went  wrong,  had  to  curse 
and  swear  and  blaspheme  as  he  did.  He  said 
things,  and  at  his  age  no  more  notion  of  the  awful 
things  he  was  saying  than  the  little  child  that  utters 
oaths  on  the  street — oaths  that  he's  heard  his  elders 
using.  I  stopped  Russell,  of  course,  after  a  while; 
but  my  mind's  been  on  it  since.  I  tell  you  I  don't 
like  it.  I'd  known  young  Russell's  father — ship- 
mates we'd  been  for  many  a  year  before  he  was  lost; 
and  thinking  of  him  up  there  while  I  was  walking 
the  deck  alone  a  while  ago,  I  got  to  thinking  of  our 
own  young  days,  and  the  Didymus,  and  that  night 
which  none  of  us  who  were  there  will  ever  forget — 
the  night  Eb  Stone  was  struck  down  at  the  rail. 
Bob  there  was  one  of  that  crew,  and  he,  too,  has 
been  a  changed  man  since.  You  never  heard  of 
that?" 

The  passenger  had  heard  of  it  from  a  dozen 
sources,  but  never  a  first-hand  version  of  it;  and 
so  "Never  from  one  of  the  crew,"  he  answered 
now. 

"Well,  you'll  hear  it  now  from  one  who  was 
there,  and  then  you  won't  wonder,  maybe,  why 
I  was  so  disturbed  a  while  ago.  This  time  I  speak 
of  the  Didymus  was  hand-lining  on  Georges  here, 

8i 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

and  those  few  of  the  crew  now  aHve  are  a  good 
many  years  older  than  they  were  then.  Young 
fellows  all  we  were,  few  of  us  more  than  twenty- 
five,  and  proud  of  our  notoriety  as  the  most  blas- 
phemous crew  that  ever  sailed  out  of  Gloucester. 
To  explain  how  that  crew  came  to  be  that  would 
be  a  long  sermon  on  one  thing  or  another — 
hypocrisy  mostly.  They  came  from  people  who 
were  more  concerned  that  the  world  should  think 
well  of  the772  than  that  they  should  themselves  do 
right.  These  young  fellows  weren't  old  enough 
then  to  have  got  to  where  they  could  separate  the 
true  from  the  false;  and  so,  seeing  their  elders 
preaching  one  thing  and  practising  another,  they 
come  to  the  way  of  thinking  that  what  their  elders 
preached,  as  well  as  their  elders  themselves,  must 
be  in  the  wrong.  From  fearing  God  too  much 
they  come  to  fear  Him  too  little.  And  so  with  them 
'twas  a  daily  riot  of  scoffing,  blaspheming,-  mocking 
what  men  should  hold  holy.  Maybe  some  of  them 
pretended  to  be  worse  than  they  Were,  after  the 
manner  of  young  men  at  times;  but  there  they 
were,  that  hard  crew  of  the  Didymus. 

"Well,  this  trip  they  were  doing  the  usual  things 
in  the  usual  way,  invoking  the  devil,  defying  the 
Almighty,  profaning  sacred  things.  A  common 
thing  with  them  when  they  went  to  their  berths  by 
the  rail,  before  they  hove  over  their  line  to  fish, 

82 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

was  to  throw  over  a  copper  or  a  nickel — generally  a 
copper,  they  coming  mostly  of  thrifty  ancestry — 
and,  as  it  dropped  into  the  sea,  to  call  by  name  the 
particular  power  they  had  it  in  mind  to  ridicule. 
*  Come  up  out  of  the  sea,  you  fork-tailed  Beelze- 
bub,' they'd  call,  casting  in  the  coin,  *  and  show  us 
your  horned  head  till  I  clout  it  with  an  oar';  or, 
*Come  up,  whoever  You  are  that  knows  all  and 
sees  all,  and  scare  me  blue,  as  they  say  You  can.' 
But  that's  as  much  as  I  dare  repeat  now,  though 
one  time  they  slipped  off  the  end  of  my  tongue  as 
the  swash  off  a  rolling  deck. 

"And  so  it  came  to  the  night  that  Eb  Stone 
came  on  deck,  saying  he  couldn't  sleep,  and  guessed 
he'd  fish  for  a  while.  There  was  nobody  else 
awake  at  the  time  but  me.  I  was  on  watch  and 
tending  to  my  line,  too,  as  a  man  on  watch  quite 
often  does,  when  he's  not  overtired  and  the  night 
is  fine.  Having  to  stay  awake  anyway,  a  man 
might  as  well  be  fishing  and  adding  to  his  store  as 
be  doing  nothing.  This  night  when  Eb  came  up  I 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  chance  to  go  below  and 
get  a  mug  of  coffee.  Eb  could  have  an  eye  out, 
and  there  was  no  danger  anyway,  for  it  was  a 
wonderfully  fine  night  anyway — 'twas  the  look 
of  to-night  made  me  think  of  it,  even  as  much  as 
Russell's  words  a  while  back — clear  as  could  be, 
except  for  the  little  spats  of  clouds  drifting  across 

83 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

the  moon  and  throwing  small,  Httle  shadows  onto 
the  sea.  A  quiet  sea  it  was,  too,  the  same  as  it 
is  to-night,  smooth  as  the  oilcloth  on  this  cabin 
floor.  A  wonderful  night  altogether,  I  couldn't 
help  remarking  to  Eb  as  I  was  about  to  drop 
below. 

"*Yes,'  said  Eb — to  the  rail  he  was  then  and 
ready  to  bait  up — 'mighty  fine  night  to  get  a  hook 
into  a  few  people  from  the  other  world.  I  wonder, 
now,  would  I  pull  up  a  devil  if  I  was  to  throw  a 
penny  over  ?'  and  picked  up  his  line  to  overhaul  it. 
'And  bring  my  knife  from  my  bunk  when  you 
come  up,  will  you,  Ned  .?  But  no  hurry — there's 
a  couple  of  baits  here  still  fresh  enough  to  use.' 

"The  last  thing  I  saw  as  I  sank  down  the 
companionway  was  Eb  ready  to  cast  over  his  line 
as  he  stood  by  the  rail.  Well,  I  drew  a  mug  of 
coffee  from  the  pot  on  the  stove.  It  was  wonder- 
fully quiet  below  as  well  as  on  deck.  Not  a  sound 
from  out  of  the  bunks,  where  a  dozen  men  weVe 
sleeping.  You  know  how,  among  ten  or  twelve 
healthy  men,  there  will  always  be  two  or  three,  at 
least,  to  turn  and  toss,  especially  if  they've  eaten 
a  hearty  supper;  but  that  night  they  were  all 
breathing  like  infants.  Unnaturally  quiet,  alto- 
gether, I  was  thinking — so  quiet  that  before  lifting 
the  mug  of  coffee  to  my  lips  I  couldn't  help  looking 
toward  the  bunks  again  to  make  sure  there  really 

84 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

were  men  in  'em.  Yes,  they  were  occupied — of 
course  'twas  foolish  ever  to  doubt  it.  And  yet, 
after  that,  I  had  to  look  up  the  hatchway  to  assure 
myself  again  by  the  sight  of  the  peeking  moon  and 
the  little  patches  of  drifting  clouds  that  I  wasn't 
in  a  dream.  But  there  they  were,  all  the  tranquil 
heavens. 

"Well,  I  began  to  grow  lonesome  then — almost 
called  to  Eb  once,  just  for  the  companionship  of  a 
human  voice;  but  I  thought  again  how  foolish  that 
would  be,  and  turned  to  my  coffee.  The  coffee 
was  good  and  warm,  and  with  two  or  three  mouth- 
fuls  of  that  inside  me  I  began  to  feel  better.  And 
yet  I  looked  up  the  companionway  to  the  sky  again 
— and  I  simply  couldn't  get  over  it,  such  a  super- 
naturally  quiet  night  it  was! 

"And  all  at  once,  while  I  was  looking  up— I 
never  knew  why,  certainly  I  didn't  intend  to — I 
set  down  my  cup  of  coffee,  and  I  found  myself 
trying  to  catch  my  breath ;  which  couldn't  have 
been  for  any  lack  of  air — there  was  plenty  of  air, 
the  companion  slides  drawn  far  back — but  my 
lungs  seemed  not  to  want  it.  It  didn't  smell  right 
to  me,  that  air — it  really  didn't.  'Twas  like  some- 
thing decaying.  And,  trying  to  pick  up  the  mug 
of  coffee  again,  my  fingers  felt  numb.  I  grew 
scared,  I  did.  *What  in  God's  name  is  the 
matter?'     I   heard   myself  saying,    but   not   like 

85 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

myself,  either — much  as  though  it  was  somebody 
else  talking.  *But  I  will  pick  it  up/  I  said,  like 
somebody  was  daring  me  to  do  it,  and  grabbed  the 
mug  of  coffee  suddenly,  as  though  I  was  afraid 
somebody  would  really  stop  me.  And  I  got  it,  too, 
but  my  fingers  barely  on  the  handle  when  such  a 
shriek !  Just  one  shriek.  There  wasn't  any  notion 
to  compare  it  to  anything  then,  but  Fve  often 
thought  since  that  if 'twas  a  lost  soul  being  dragged 
over  the  brink  of  hell  I'd  expect  he'd  shriek  like 
that. 

"One  breath  before,  and  I  thought  nothing  short 
of  a  call  to  judgment  could  have  waked  that  crew 
for'ard;  but  with  that  cry  from  above  every  man 
of  them  leaped  from  his  bunk.  None  of 'em  needed 
more  than  boots  and  trousers  to  be  dressed,  but 
some,  not  even  waiting  for  that,  rushed  on  deck 
to  see  what  it  was.  Eb's  berth  was  on  the  starb'd 
side,  just  for'ard  of  the  fore-rigging;  and  there  we 
found  him,  stretched  full  length  beside  the  rail,  his 
feet  to  the  cleat  under  the  pin-rail  and  his  head 
almost  against  the  drumhead  of  the  windlass. 
And  that  wasn't  all.  His  line  was  cut  clean  off 
at  the  rail;  not  broke  off,  nor  bit  off,  but  cut  clean 
off  as  with  a  knife.  Said  somebody,  'He  must 
have  cut  it  himself,'  and  we  looked  for  his  knife, 
and  couldn't  find  it.  And  then  I  remembered  Eb 
couldn't  have  had  a  knife  on  deck — he'd  asked 

86 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

me  to  get  his  from  his  bunk  when  I  dropped  below 
for  a  mug-up.  And,  sure  enough,  under  the 
mattress  in  Eb's  bunk  we  found  it,  where  he 
always  kept  it  when  he  wasn't  fishing;  and  nobody 
else's  knife  was  missing  from  its  place. 

"We  looked  out  to  sea  then,  and  there  wasn't  a 
thing  there — no  craft,  no  light,  no  sail,  no  floating 
thing  of  any  kind ;  and  'twas  the  kind  of  a  night, 
too,  to  see  far,  but  nothing  there;  only  the  awful 
quiet  and  the  drifting  bits  of  clouds  across  the 
sky,  and  the  little  shadows  they  threw  on  the  sea, 
which  was  itself  so  smooth  that  not  even  the  play 
of  the  everlasting  tides  was  rippling  the  surface 
of  it. 

"We  carried  him  below,  stiff  and  motionless, 
and  laid  him  on  the  cabin  floor.  We  called  to 
him ;  and  before  his  eyes,  wide  open  and  staring  up 
to  the  roof  of  the  cabin,  we  waved  things,  even  the 
tin-type  of  his  girl  we  took  from  the  shelf  in  his 
bunk.  But  not  the  smallest  twist  of  his  Hps,  nor 
quiver  of  his  eyelids,  to  show  that  he  heard  or 
saw. 

"There  was  nothing  to  it  but  put  for  home.  So 
we  up-anchor;  and  I  mind  how  mournful  sounded 
the  clinking  of  the  chain  through  the  hawse-hole, 
and  winching  in,  there  were  men  on  that  vessel  who 
dreaded  standing  on  the  side  of  the  windlass  where 
Eb's    body    had    lain.      Arrived    in    Gloucester 

87 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

harbor,  we  carried  Eb  to  the  house  of  his  only 
brother,  and  there  we  laid  him  on  the  lounge  in  the 
parlor.  And  an  awful  duty  that — bearing  a  dead 
man  in  from  sea." 

"But  was  he  dead  then,  Skipper?  I  always 
heard " 

"Well,  as  to  that,  he  was  dead,  and  yet  he 
wasn't  dead.  He  lay  there  stiff  and  stark,  with 
never  a  word  or  moan,  and  the  doctor  came;  and 
another  doctor  came;  and  another  doctor  came, 
but  none  of  'em  could  say  what  was  the  matter 
with  poor  Eb.  And  seven  nights  from  the  night 
he  was  struck  down  the  last  flutterings  of  his  heart 
stopped  entirely." 

Tick,  tick,  tick,  went  the  cabin  clock.  Tick, 
tick,  insistently,  until  it  gained  the  skipper's  at- 
tention. "Aye,  I  'most  forgot  her,"  said  the 
skipper,  and  stood  up  to  have  a  look.  "She'll 
be  a  few  seconds  fast,  I'm  thinking,"  and  compared 
it  with  the  superb  little  chronometer  that  set  in  a 
polished  cedar  case  in  his  room.  "But  only  a 
few  seconds — gains  maybe  four  seconds  a  day. 
Pretty  good  that,  when  you  allow  for  the  pitching 
of  the  vessel  and  where  it  has  to  hang.  But  it 
was  always  a  great  little  clock  that,"  and  [this 
last  he  almost  whispered.  "'Most  nine  o'clock 
already."      Carefully  he   replaced    the  chronom- 

88 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

eter,  and  presently  closed  the  stateroom  door 
I  behind  him. 

The  passenger  turned  from  the  blank  door  to 
old  Bob.     "Surely  he's  not  turning  in  .?" 

"'Sh— !"  warned  old  Bob. 

And  silence  held  the  cabin  again,  till  the  door  was 
slid  back,  and  the  skipper,  resuming  his  chair  and 
leaning  forward,  fastened  his  gaze  on  the  hot  coals 
in  the  stove. 

"But,  Captain" — the  passenger  was  consumed 
with  curiosity  —  "during  that  seven  days  and 
nights,  didn't  Eb  Stone  ever  come  to  sufficiently 
to  offer  a  word  of  explanation,  any  word  or  sign 
to  throw  a  little  light  on  the  matter  ?" 

At  sound  of  the  passenger's  voice  the  skipper 
came  out  of  his  reverie.  Tightly  he  closed  his 
eyes,  as  if  to  shut  out  the  pictures  in  the  fire,  and 
over  them  pressed  his  tense  finger-tips.  "  Eb  ? 
Never  a  word.     He  died  without  speaking." 

"But  didn't  the  doctors  have  anything  to  say  ?" 

"What  could  they  .f*  They  wanted  to  cut  poor 
Eb  open,  but  Eb's  brother  wouldn't  stand  for  it. 
*No,'  he  said,  'it's  something  more  than  doctors 
can  explain,'  and  had  him  buried  without  an 
autopsy." 

"And  what  did  you  think  yourself.  Captain?" 

"Think?  Well,  'twould  take  a  long  time  to 
say,  but  I  know  what  I  did,  and  what  effect  it 

89 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

had  on  me.  From  the  day  of  his  burial  I  made  up 
my  mind  never  again  to  cast  ridicule  on  things  that 
other  people  venerated,  simply  because  I  didn't 
wholly  believe  in  them.  I  began  to  see  that  there 
might  be  things  in  the  universe  that  my  brain  was 

unequal  to  grasping.     And " 

The  passenger  was  about  to  offer  a  theory,  but 
the  skipper  raised  a  protesting  hand.  "Wait  a 
bit  with  your  scientists.  And  adhering  to  that, 
I  came  to  be  a  better  man.  And  from  being  a 
better  man  I  came  to  have  the  courage  to  marry  a 
girl  that  Fd  almost  begun  to  think  was  never  to  be 
for  me;  and,  marrying  her,  life  began  to  take  on 
new  aspects.  It  was  no  longer  hard  and  gray, 
though  'twas  terrible  enough  at  times — mostly 
through  fear  for  her.  For  one  thing,  she  had  not 
exactly  a  dread  of  the  sea,  but  a  dread  of  what  it 
might  do  to  me — in  winter-time  especially.  You 
see,  she  was  the  kind  that  knew — whether  I  was 
near  her  or  away  from  her  didn't  matter — she 
knew  when  danger  threatened  me.  She'd  wake 
out  of  her  sleep  at  night — many's  the  time  she's 
told  me,  and  the  children  have  heard  her  too — 
and  cry  out  my  name  and  pray  to  God  to  save  me. 
And  when  next  I'd  get  home,  after  I  was  quiet  and 
calm  under  the  home  influence,  and  no  distress  to 
hear  it,  she'd  tell  me,  and,  coming  to  look  into  it, 
sure  enough  I'd  find  that  on  the  night  or  day,  at 

go 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

the  time  she  said,  myself  or  the  vessel  was  in  more 
or  less  danger.  Sometimes  I  had  to  strain  my 
memory  to  find  grounds  for  her  alarm,  but  there'd 
nearly  always  be  something,  maybe  some  little 
thing,  that  any  man  would  forget  two  minutes  after 
it  happened,  but  yet  a  terrible  matter  'twould  be 
to  a  timid  and  loving  woman  ashore." 
^^ ^Nearly  always,^  you  said.  Captain  ?" 
"Nearly  always,  that's  right.  There  were 
rimes  when  I  couldn't  discover  the  least  ground 
for  her  fright;  occasionally,  on  coming  home  from 
the  calmest  trips  imaginable,  she'd  have  her 
fears  to  tell.  And  when  I'd  laugh  at  her  then, 
she'd  only  say  'twas  there  just  the  same.  *You 
don't  know  what  might  have  been  threatening 
you  in  the  dark  and  you  not  able  to  see  it,'  she'd 
say. 

"Well,  in  the  course  of  time  I  got  to  be  a  different 
man.  No  man  could've  been  married  to  my  wife 
long  and  not  be;  and  I  got  to  appreciate  her,  and 
coming  home  from  sea  and  meeting  her  again  got 
to  be  what  I  lived  for.  I  came,  too,  to  believe  in 
the  mysterious  power  she  had  of  knowing  how 
things  had  gone  with  me.  Even  when  there'd  been 
no  particular  danger,  she'd  know  whether  I'd  had 
a  hard  trip  or  a  pleasant  one;  but  saying  nothing 
of  it  at  the  moment,  she'd  meet  me  at  the  door 
with  just  the  word  to  suit  my  feelings,  though, 

91 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

again,  as  I  said,  never  any  long  speeches  till  Fd 
been  made  comfortable  generally. 

"At  last  it  came  to  what  I  want  to  tell  you  about. 
I'd  got  a  fine  little  chronometer  for  taking  some 
people  off  a  wreck,  and  by  and  by  I  took  some  off 
another  dismasted  vessel — at  great  peril,  as  the 
resolutions  went  with  'em  said,  though  'twas  just 
an  ordinary  sea  running  at  the  time.  But,  any- 
way, I  got  another  chronometer,  both  the  same 
winter.  And  my  wife  says  I  must  give  her  one 
and  keep  one  on  the  vessel.  Which  I  did.  There 
in  my  room,  now,  is  mine — you  saw  me  go  to  it  a 
while  ago.  By  it  I  take  care  to  set  the  cabin  clock 
every  few  days,  and  after  every  trip  I  take  it  ashore 
and  compare  it  with  my  wife's  at  home;  and  if 
they  don't  agree  have  them  corrected.  But  they 
need  but  small  correction.  They  are  both  good 
chronometers — sometimes  those  rescue  ones  are 
that  way — and  these  two'll  almost  tick  for  tick  for 
months  together.  Which  is  just  what  my  wife 
wants ;  for  every  night,  exactly  at  nine  o'clock,  she 
has  the  older  children  kneeling  by  their  bedsides 
and  saying  a  prayer  for  me.  She  prays  with  them. 
And  I've  got  to  where  I  say  a  prayer  myself  aboard 
the  vessel  at  the  same  hour,  if  the  weather'll  allow. 
And  there's  where  the  chronometer  comes  into  the 
story.  You  all  know  of  the  last  gale  out  here  on 
Georges.     Of  course.     Fourteen  vessels  and  one 

92 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

hundred  and  sixty-five  men  lost  that  night. 
Every  third  man  and  vessel  of  the  hand-lining 
fleet  went  down  inside  twenty-four  hours.  We 
were  in  that  gale — this  same  vessel,  and  no  par- 
ticular praise  to  me  or  the  crew — and  a  fine  crew, 
too — that  ourselves  and  vessel  came  out  of  it  safe. 
And  how  was  that  ^     Fll  tell  you. 

"A  wicked  night  it  was,  and  we  trying  to  buck 
our  way  off  the  Bank.  Wind  ?  Lord  knows, 
maybe  ninety  or  a  hundred  miles  an  hour  'twas 
blowing.  Frightful — ^yes.  Under  a  two-reefed 
fores'l  we  were,  and  that  was  plenty.  Black  as 
hell,  and  seas  to  your  masthead.  All  around  us 
we  could  hear  the  calls  of  men  in  peril,  with  their 
voices,  when  sometimes  they'd  rise  above  the  wind, 
like  the  cries  of  ghosts  in  the  night.  Suddenly 
comes  a  bolt  of  thunder  and  a  flash  of  Hghtning, 
so  bright  and  sudden  as  to  bhnd  us  almost,  and  in 
the  glare  of  it  we  saw  the  other  two  vessels.  It 
was  like  seeing  when  you're  being  photographed  in 
a  flash-light  group  at  night — the  sudden  report 
and  glare,  and  the  other  people  being  seen  suddenly 
— and  then  darkness  again,  with  a  ringing  in  your 
ears,  and  you  trying  to  keep  your  eyes  from  blink- 
ing after  it.  'Twas  that  flash  of  light  saved  us. 
There  were  three  vessels  of  us  about  to  come  to- 
gether, and  you  know  what  happens  to  vessels  that 
come  together  on  Georges  in  a  gale.     We  saw 

93 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

them,  just  time  to  shift  the  wheel  and  to  scrape 
by,  the  Smuggler  to  one  side  and  the  Barmecides 
the  other.     Man,  but  'twas  close! 

"  But  more  wonderful  than  the  flash  of  lightning 
or  our  being  saved  and  the  two  other  vessels  be- 
ing lost — which  they  were — we  could  hear  them 
grinding  together  and  their  calls  in  the  dark — and, 
worst  of  it  all,  we  couldn't  help,  and  they  went, 
God  rest  'em!  But  the  wonderful  thing — just  at 
the  time  of  the  flash,  which  we  easily  fixed  by  the 
cabin  clock — old  Bob  there  was  to  be  relieved  at 
the  wheel  on  the  hour,  and  the  new  man  on  watch 
had  just  looked  at  the  clock,  that  same  clock  which 
I  then  as  well  as  now  kept  to  exact  time  with  the 
chronometers,  he'd  just  taken  a  peep  and  said, 
'Less  than  a  minute  now,'  and  had  drawn  on  his 
mitts  and  had  one  foot  on  the  companionway  steps 
there  to  go  on  deck,  when  the  flash  came.  Well, 
ashore,  as  it  happened,  which  it  doesn't  always, 
it  was  bad  weather  that  same  night,  too,  and  my 
wife  was  feeling  worried,  but  not  worrying  enough 
to  make  any  fuss  over,  for  she  knew  that  it  might 
be  bad  weather  in  Gloucester  and  good  weather  on 
Georges.  The  children  were  sitting  around  read- 
ing or  playing — she  was  nursing  the  baby — when 
all  at  once  she  set  the  baby  down  and  got  the 
children  together,  she  didn't  know  why,  and  all 
in  a  moment.     *  Children,'  she  said,  'Anna,  Jack, 

94 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

Tom,  Irene — on  your  knees,  quick!  and  pray  for 
your  father " 

"<Why,  mamma,  it's  only  eight  o^clock,  an  hour 
to  bedtime  yet,'  says  Irene. 

" '  H'sh !  your  father's  in  danger — pray  with  me 
now!" 

"And  they  repeated  the  prayers  after  her,  and 
the  chronometer  tinkHng  eight  bells  as  they  prayed, 
little  Irene  turned  her  head  as  if  to  tell  it  to  hush. 
It  didn't  seem  right  to  her  that  even  the  striking 
of  a  clock  should  be  allowed  to  disturb  prayers." 

The  skipper  drew  the  sensitive  finger-tips  slowly 
down  over  forehead,  eyelids,  cheeks,  and  jaw. 
"Eye-ah!"  he  sighed,  and  slipped  feet  out  of  slip- 
shods,  and,  after  another  pause,  slipped  suspenders 
from  shoulder  to  waist,  and  went  to  the  companion- 
way,  and  there  for  a  while  stood,  head  above  the 
house,  for  a  whifF  of  the  air,  and  presently  returned 
and  faced  the  passenger. 

"And  what  do  your  scientists  make  of  that?" 

"  Oh,  they've  long  been  working  on  the  question 
of  psychic  force." 

"H'm!  and  consider  it,  most  of  'em,  a  disease 
of  the  nerves,  hallucination  and  so  on.  Well,  my 
wife's  not  one  of  those  that  take  in  mysterious 
seances  in  darkened,  smelly  rooms.  She's  a 
healthy,  lovable  woman,  with  eight  healthy,  hand- 
some children.     Now  what.?" 

95 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

"Well,  telepathy's  admitted  by  some/* 

"By  some,  yes,  but  half  doubting.  And 
others?" 

"Well,  superstition." 

"Superstition,  that's  it.  What  they  don't  under- 
stand, whatever's  beyond  their  dull  imaginations 
and  souls — for  the  average  scientist  is  weak  in 
what  we  agree  to  call  a  soul — whatever's  beyond 
them  they  say  bah!  old  superstitions!  And  why  ? 
Lord  knows,  unless  it's  because  they  can't  explain 
it.  Now  there  will  always  be  the  so-called 
scientists,  and  useful  people  they'll  be,  too,  and 
yet  more  useful  if  they  weren't  so  fond  of  over- 
rating their  mission,  which  is  to  deal  mostly  with 
facts,  so-called,  of  the  physical  world — things  you 
can  measure  with  a  bushel-basket  or  a  tape,  or 
weigh  on  a  pair  of  platform  scales.  If  only  now 
and  then  they  wouldn't  consider  all  but  their  own 
cold-blooded  kind  deficient  in  intellect  and  would 
try  to  explain,  instead  of  destroy,  the  faith  in  so 
many  things  that  make  for  the  betterment  of 
mankind.  These  men  who  dabble  in  laboratories 
should  really  follow  behind.  There  is  where  they 
might  become  useful.  A  hundred  things  we  might 
quote,  but  take  the  one  thing  that  all  the  world  is 
interested  in  now.  Take  wireless  telegraphy. 
Now,  before  the  days  of  wireless  telegraphy,  you 
had  your  scientists,  didn't  you?" 

96 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

"Surely.  They  were  very  active,  too.'* 
"Aye,  and  so  are  ants,  though  mostly  by  way  of 
example,  and  they  mustn't  mistake  their  little 
sand-heaps  for  Himalayas.  Well,  suppose  we 
say  one  hundred  years  ago,  or  fifty  or  sixty  years 
ago,  before  the  cable  was  laid,  a  man  came  to 
them  and  said,  *The  other  day  I  sent  a  message 
across  the  sea — from  a  point  in  Newfoundland  I 
asked  a  question  of  a  man  in  Ireland,  and  got  his 
answer.'  What  would  they  have  said  to  that 
man  ?  We  all  know  what  they'd  have  said.  Well, 
suppose,  again,  that  to-day  a  fine  old  lady,  who  has 
lived  a  full  fife,  loved  and  married  and  borne  her 
brood  of  children,  and  her  children  after  her  borne 
children,  too,  and  some  have  lived  and  some  have 
died — she  has  christened  her  quick  and  waked  her 
dead,  her  own  and  her  children's  children — she's 
had  great  joys  in  her  life,  but  mostly  she's  had 
great  sorrows,  and  from  out  of  her  life  has  come 
much  thought.  And  all  her  life  she  has  been 
trying  to  get  nearer  her  Creator.  Well,  she  hears 
in  the  night  the  cry  of  a  beloved — at  the  other  side 
of  the  earth  he  may  be.  He  is  in  danger,  and  she 
hears  his  cry,  his  prayer  for  rescue,  his  wail  of 
despair.  He  is  dying,  and  she  hears  his  whispered 
hope  for  pardon,  and  she  speaks  of  it  with  tears, 
actually  choking  with  the  thought  of  it.  And 
what  is  said  of  it.?     *She  is  an  old  woman,'  they 

97 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

say — your  friends  the  scientists,  I  mean  now — *she 
is  an  old  woman — can't  read  or  write,  possibly. 
Dreams,'  they'll  say;  *  don't  mind  her.'  And 
soothe  her  as  if  she  were  a  child.  And  so  she  is 
hushed,  but  something  within  her  is  still  unsatisfied. 
And  there  it  is:  Marconi  in  Newfoundland  tunes 
up  his  instrument  to  so  many  vibrations  a  second, 
and  a  man  in  Ireland,  with  his  instrument — what- 
ever 'tis  called — tuned  up  to  the  same  number  of 
vibrations,  gets  his  message.  In  their  symbols 
they  communicate,  and  thereby  prove  the  truth 
of  what  in  an  earlier  day  your  friends  would  label 
superstition.  Yet  Marconi  is  only  proving  in  the 
physical  world  what  that  saintly  old  woman  is 
doing  continually  in  the  spiritual  world.  All  her 
life  she  has  lived  in  God.  Why  can't  she,  towards 
the  end  of  it,  have  the  eyes  that  see,  the  ears  that 
hear,  the  divinations  that  us  ordinary  fleshly  people 
never  have.  We  know  people  that  would  as  soon 
smell  a  cabbage  as  a  rose,  who  see  no  purple  in  a 
summer  sunset  in  the  hills,  who  know  no  difference 
between  the  booming  of  a  negro  boy  on  a  brass 
drum  and  the  touch  of  a  heaven-born  musician  on 
the  violin.  You  talk  to  them,  and  you  have  to 
limit  your  speech.  Live  with  them  long  enough, 
and  you  may  come  yourself  to  have  the  same 
limited  senses,  to  see  nothing  delightful  in  flowers, 
sunsets,  music,  poetry,  or  in  any  of  the  beautiful 

98 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

things  in  life,  for  we  certainly  can  lose  the  finer 
senses  by  gross  living.  Look  at  the  little  child  of 
good  parents.  He  knows  nothing  of  life — knows 
nothing  of  sin,  nothing  of  virtue,  by  experience; 
but  set  him  down  in  a  mixed  company,  vicious  and 
good  mingled.  He  doesn't  know  why,  he  can't 
explain,  the  poor  child,  but  he'll  turn  from  the  bad 
and  run  to  the  really  good.  And  why  is  that .? 
Isn't  it  the  finer  senses,  tuned  more  nearly  to  the 
spirit  of  the  Great  Truth  .? 

"And  again,  for  your  people  who  believe  nothing 
until  it  is  proved  to  them,  and  proved  according  to 
their  own  rule ;  for  by  proof  they  mean  something 
they  can  understand,  something  that's  within  their 
grasp,  never  for  a  moment  alive  to  the  fact  that 
their  grasp  on  the  great  things  may  be  pitiably 
weak.  I've  had  that  kind  out  on  a  trip  with  me, 
and  I've  seen  them  grow — actually  grow  to  a  bigger 
conception  of  things.  All  their  lives  they've  been 
looking  out  of  little  windows  on  narrow  streets,  and 
suddenly  they  are  brought  out  here  and  set  face 
to  face  with  one  of  the  great  works  of  the  universe. 
On  a  black  night  I've  seen  them  stand  on  the  deck 
of  this  little  vessel — no  great  big  seven-hundred- 
foot  ship,  with  her  promenade  rail  sixty  feet  from 
the  water;  but  on  this  little  fisherman,  where  they 
have  only  to  lean  over  the  rail  and  trail  their  fingers 
in   the  ocean.     And   something  comes   to   them. 

99 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

They  don't  know  what  it  is.  They  are  then  in- 
articulate, Hke  the  child.  Something,  whatever 
it  is,  too  big  for  them  to  understand.  But  they 
feel  it,  although  they  never  stay  long  enough  to 
grasp  it  quite,  or  to  let  it  take  full  hold.  If  they 
only  would  stay  longer!  But  no,  in  a  week,  a 
fortnight,  they're  once  more  ashore,  back  to  their 
little  four-walled  room  they  go  again.  Back  to 
their  books,  compiled  by  men  but  half  of  whom  are 
grown,  half  developed,  deficient  in  insight,  in 
emotions,  in  experience  of  humanity.  For  that 
little  while  I  had  them  here  they  were  different 
men,  they  were  beginning  to  catch  a  glimmering 
of  the  mighty  scheme — a  scheme  so  vast  in  concep- 
tion, so  sublime  in  execution,  that  for  the  ordinary 
mind  to  attempt  to  grasp  its  immensity  is  to  court 
the  overthrow  of  reason.  '  It  is  too  much,  too  much,' 
I've  heard  them  say.  But  back  they  go  to  their 
walled-in  laboratories,  and  after  a  while  recover 
sufficiently  to  preach  with  loud  voices  all  the  little 
truths  again.  And,  mind  you,  I'm  not  deriding 
science — I'm  only  saying,  why  do  they  not  come  out 
in  the  open  and  enlarge  their  vision  .?  A  man  of  the 
hills  and  the  prairies,  they  tell  me,  rarely  doubts. 
And  the  man  of  the  sea,  this  I  know  myself,  is  never 
a  sceptic;  and  so  to  him  nothing  is  impossible." 

The  last  straggler  sank  to  sleep  below,  and  the 

100 


The  Illimitable.  Senses 

passenger  sought  the  deck,  where  only  old  Bob 
was;  and  he,  a  sculptured  figure  against  the  fore- 
rigging,  might  have  been  asleep  too.  So  still  he 
stood  that  the  passenger  was  in  doubt  until  he 
reached  his  side  and  saw  that  the  steady  eyes  were 
really  open. 

"A  grand  night.  Bob!" 

"Aye,  lad,  grand — and  solemn." 

"That's  it — solemn.  Something  like  the  night 
that  Eb  Stone  was  struck  down,  the  skipper  was 
saying  a  while  ago." 

"Something  like  that,  but" — his  slow  eyes 
roamed  sky  and  sea — "but  stiller  that  night." 

"Stiller  ^  Than  this  ^  Then  the  elements  them- 
selves must  have  been  asleep.  Bob  .^" 

"And  why  not  .f'     Why  not  to  sleep,  lad?" 

"Sleep?" 

"Aye,  sleep." 

"And  dream,  too.  Bob?" 

"Aye,  lad,  why  not?  To  sleep  and  dream  o* 
God?" 

Why  not  ?  The  passenger  looked  above  and 
about.  A  notable  night,  not  alone  for  the  over- 
powering beauty — beautiful  nights  are  not  rare 
at  sea — but  for  the  amazing  quiet  of  sea  and  sky. 
The  passenger's  thoughts  came  back  to  that  other 
night  of  the  Didymus. 

Wasn't  it  possible  that  a  knife  was  lying  around 

lOI 


The  Illimitable  Senses 

deck,  after  all  ?  And  with  it  couldn't  Eb  have  cut 
the  line  and  let  it  slip  overboard  then  ?  If  not  that, 
what  sort  of  a  creature — what  manner  of  a  counte- 
nance did  it  bear  that  the  strong  man  was  stricken 
dead  at  sight  of  it  ? 

What  was  it  ?  Was  it —  A  hundred  hypotheses 
took  shape  in  the  passenger's  brain.  But  no,  for 
thirty  years  the  fleet  had  passed  up  that  question, 
and  in  the  fleet  were  those  who  dwelt  ever  on  the 
brink  of  the  Great  Crossing,  and  who  dwelt  there 
had  thoughts  beyond  the  measure  of  the  roof- 
bound  peoples. 


102 


THE  JOY  OF  A 
CHRISTMAS  PASSAGE 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

THE  little  man  had  come  down  to  the  dock, 
that  morning,  in  an  ugly  humor.  Once  in 
a  great  while — their  friends  well  knew  it — he 
and  Maggie  had  to  have  a  falling  out.  Two 
souls  were  they  that  dearly  loved  an  argument, 
meaning  no  harm  thereby — merely  true  fight- 
ing blood  they  had,  instinctively  seeking  to  keep 
itself  in  trim. 

Now  a  real  man  and  a  true  woman,  when  both 
are  quick-tempered  and  vigorous,  sometimes  say 
things  to  each  other;  more  particularly  the 
woman,  impelled  by  the  force  of  hereditary  ages 
to  ease  the  strain  that  way.  Maggie  could  lightly 
die  for  her  husband,  but  to  give  up  the  last  word! 
— Mother  in  Heaven,  was  a  woman  a  woman,  or 
was  she  a  wax  figure  ^ 

Pouted  like  a  baby  did  Coleman  and  nursed 
his  sensitive  soul  and  took  another  drink  before 
sailing;  and  by  that  the  barkeeper,  an  emeritus 
professor  in  human  nature,  knew  that  something 
had  gone  wrong  and  advised  a  friend  who  sailed 
on  the  Maggie  to  stay  ashore  that  trip. 

"And  why  stay  ashore  this  trip,  any  more  than 
105 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

any  other  ? "  naturally  inquired  the  friend,  who 
happened  to  be  Eddie  Bligh. 

"Never  mind  why.  Somebody  or  something 
'11  ketch  the  devil,  Fm  telling  you."  Further 
than  that  he  would  not  explain.  His  secrets  were 
professional,  possibly,  or  perhaps  he  knew  that, 
if  he  should  say  anything,  somebody  would  surely 
pass  it  along  to  Captain  Joyce;  and  then — he  saw 
the  picture  clearly — no  fear  of  the  police  or  his 
own  superior  bulk  would  prevent  the  little  man 
from  reaching  across  the  bar  and  dragging  him 
around  the  sanded  floor  by  the  ears. 

"Put  out,"  said  Captain  Joyce,  and  took  note 
of  the  weather — a  cold  day  and  a  gale  blowing. 
"Let  ye  hoist  the  jibs" — and  he  leaped  from  the 
wharf  to  the  deck  of  his  vessel  without  so  much 
as  putting  hand  to  the  rigging  on  the  way.  "And 
what's  wrong  with  youf"  he  demanded  of  big 
Jerry  Connors,  all  flying,  like  a  man  who  fears 
he'll  never  catch  up  with  his  work  again. 

"Nothing  wrong  with  me,  but  a  whole  lot 
wrong  with  the  compass.  Somebody  must  've 
been  tryin'  to  pull  it  through  the  binnacle,  last 
night,  and  the  water,  or  alcohol,  or  whatever 
kind  of  spirit  't  is  the  needle  floats  around  in,  is 
'most   all   spilled." 

"There  it  is,"  exploded  Coleman.  "We  pay 
a  man  two  dollars  and  a  half  to  watch  this  vessel 

1 06 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

of  a  night,  and  he  goes  up  the  street  and  yarns, 
when  't  is  the  vessel  he  should  be  lookin'  after. 
But  we  can't  be  waiting  at  the  dock  because  a 
watchman  don't  tend  to  his  business.  Let  ye 
loose  yer  fores'l.     We'll  stop  his  wages." 

"And  how'll  we  know  her  course  by  it?" 

"Coorse,  is  it  ?  Do  y'  need  to  know  the  coorse 
goin'  down  the  harbor?" 

"But  when  we're  clear  of  the  harbor?" 

"Wait  till  we're  clear.  I'll  lay  her  coorse, 
then." 

This  he  did.  He  shot  her  through  Hypocrite 
Channel,  she  drawing  fifteen  feet,  at  low  tide; 
and  then,  with  a  hand  to  the  wind  and  an  eye  to 
the  compass,  he  asked,  "Who  says  this  compass 
isn't  all  right .? — the  wind's  nor' west,  that's  sure, 
and  there  it  is." 

"Oh,  it's  all  right  now,  but  wait  a  minute  and 
see  it  hop  three  or  four  points." 

"Sure,  and  won't  it  hop  back  again?  And 
what  harm  so  long's  we'll  be  able  to  see  Cape  Cod 
goin'  by  ?  In  this  breeze  't  will  be  easy  enough 
after  that — a  child  can  handle  her — run  ye'r 
mainsheet  to  the  knot  and  let  her  go — and  heave 
the  lead  when  ye're  not  quite  sure." 

This  was  how  the  Maggie  made  a  great  run  of 
it  to  Georges — to  the  North  Shoal  before  the  De- 
cember  gale — and   then,   sheets   in   and   all   she 

107 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

wanted,  tearing  down  to  her  old  favorite  spot  as 
if  she  knew  the  way,  which  Coleman  always 
maintained  she  did.  "Sure,  and  she  does. 
P'int  her  the  way  ye  want  her  to  go  in  the  begin- 
ning, then  let  her  be,  and  she'll  go  the  rest  of  the 
way  herself." 

But  after  they  were  on  the  grounds  it  was  five 
days  before  they  could  put  a  dory  over  the  side, 
which  meant  that  it  was  fairly  rough,  for  whoever 
sailed  with  Coleman  Joyce  learned  to  quail  be- 
fore no  small  spats  of  seas.  Then  came  a  chance 
for  one  two-tub  set,  after  which  there  were  four 
days  more  of  laying-to,  this  time  for  a  northeaster, 
with  snow  to  smother  them.  Four  days  more, 
then,  of  a  northwester,  during  which  the  ice  made 
as  fast  as  they  could  chop  it — which  wasn't  a 
matter  of  much  concern  so  long  as  there  was  time 
to  chop  it.  Winter  fishing  calls  for  chopping  ice 
pretty  regularly. 

Tough  weather  it  was,  but  the  mood  of  it  beau- 
tifully suited  Coleman,  still  pouting  and  still  nurs- 
ing his  wrath.  "Ice!"  he  burst  out — "what  the 
divil's  a  little  ice  I  Some  of  ye  talk  as  if  a  little 
ice  on  the  deck  was  all  in  the  world  to  trouble  a 


man." 


"And  what's  the  matter  with  himself .f^"  in- 
quired one  after  another  of  the  crew.  "  Did  y'  ever 
know  him  this  way  before,  Jerry?" 

lo8 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

"I  have.  Leave  him  be.  Once  in  a  very  great 
while  he's  this  way.  No  harm!  We'll  ketch  the 
divil  for  a  few  days  and  then  't  will  be  over  with, 
and  he  sweet  as  a  laughing  child." 

Sixteen  days  out  they  were  and  a  beautiful  day 
it  was,  such  a  day  as  comes  even  to  the  storm- 
tossed  Georges  in  winter,  when  the  Hiawatha 
rounded  to  under  the  Maggie's  quarter.  To 
windward  at  the  time  and  stretched  out  in  a  five- 
mile  string,  all  tossing  gently  on  the  wonderful 
sea,  were  the  little  dories  of  the  Maggie,  with  the 
nearest  dory  so  handy  that  the  little  man  could 
see  the  changing  expression  on  the  face  of  Jerry 
Connors  when  he  hauled  in  the  fish.  A  fine  had- 
dock came,  and  Jerry  looked  pleased;  a  fine  cod, 
and  he  smiled;  a  ravenous  dogfish,  and  he  glow- 
ered and  beat  him  testily  over  the  nose  with  the 
gobstick,  ere  he  cast  him  into  the  sea  again. 

The  gulls  circled  and  drooped,  the  flakes  of 
clouds  floated  hither  and  thither,  and  the  sea  rose 
and  fell,  and  on  its  low  white  crests  the  little  dories 
gently  sank  and  lifted. 

" Beau-ti-ful ! "  murmured  Coleman;  "no  man 
ashore  ever  sees  the  like  of  this.  A  beautiful  day, 
God  be  praised!"  and  he  looked  the  length  of 
the  string,  picking  up  with  his  keen  eyes  one  dory 
after  another  until  he  had  accounted  for  the  whole 
ten,  even  to  Peter  Kane's,  all  of  seven  miles  away. 

109 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

At  the  wheel  of  the  Hiawatha  was  Dan  Shea. 
On  the  wheelbox  of  the  Maggie  sat  Coleman. 
Both  men,  masters  of  craft,  touched  the  spokes 
delicately,  with  eyes  roving  aloft  or  far  about  for 
the  signs  of  wind,  or  sea,  or  the  men  in  the 
riding  dories.  A  breeze  that  was  like  wine  to  a 
sick  man  played  over  the  sea.  It  was  a  great  day 
altogether,  thought  Dan  Shea,  for  a  little  confi- 
dential chat. 

"Coleman!" 

"Well.?" 

"Do  you  know  what  day  it  is?" 

"What  day  is  it.?"  The  little  man  pondered 
laboriously — over-laboriously,  indeed — so  that  Dan 
Shea  had  to  smother  a  young  smile.  "Why,  of 
coorse — a  Chuesday." 

"I  don't  mean  that,  and  blessed  well  you  know 
I  don't.     What  day  of  the  month  is  it .?" 

"What  day  is  it  yerself .? — I'm  no  callen-der." 

"Well,  it's  the  twenty-third.  And  what's  to- 
morrow night.?" 

"What  is  it,  you  ?" 

"Well,  it's  Christmas  Eve." 

"Yes.?" 

"Yes.  Are  you  goin'  to  be  home  for  Christ- 
mas.?" 

"If  I'm  filled  up — maybe.     Are  you?" 

"'Less  something  happens  to-day,  I  will." 
no 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

"  Whether  you  fill  up  or  no  ? " 

"If  she  was  dry  as  a  spar-yard,  yes.  I  wouldn't 
miss  bein*  home  Christmas  for  forty  loads  of  fish 
— nor  would  you." 

"The  divil  I  wouldn't.  Who's  tellin'  you  all 
that.?" 

"Oh,  I  know.  Now,  Coleman,  what's  a  word 
spoken  in  heat .?  Man,  Maggie  could  kiss  the 
wet  frozen  deck  under  your  feet,  and  Httle  Dannie" 
— Shea  looked  over  at  his  sister's  husband — "and 
little  Dannie,  I  say " 

Coleman  put  the  wheel  down  another  spoke, 
took  a  look  at  the  luff  of  his  mainsail,  and  put  it 
up  one. 

Shea  waited.  He  knew  well  this  sensitive,  lov- 
ing child  of  a  brother-in-law,  with  whom  there 
was  always  the  danger  of  saying  the  one  word  too 
much.  So  he  waited  a  bit,  and  began  again  his 
message.  "Little  Dannie  ran  over  to  the  house, 
the  morning  I  was  leavin'  for  the  dock,  and  says 
— *woogh,  woogh-h '" 

"You  ought  to  take  something  for  that  cold, 
Dan."     The  little  man  grinned  at  his  shot. 

"And  maybe  I  would — if 't  was  no  more  than  a 
cold,  Coleman.  But  Dannie,  the  tears  in  his 
little  blue  eyes,  puts  his  head  in  my  bosom  and 
cries,  cries,  and  couldn't  speak  for  so  long,  the 
poor  little  creature,  as  if  't  was  his  heart's  blood 

III 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

was  chokin'  him,  and  says" — Shea  stood  erect 
and  gazed  far  to  leeward — "Is  that  my  dory  or 
yours  up  to  wind'ard  there,  Coleman  ?" 

"Blast  whose  dory  't  is! — what  did  he  say?" 

"What  did  Httle  Dannie  say  ?  He  says,  'Uncle 
Dan,  if  you  see  grandpa  out  on  Georges,  tell  him 
he  never  came  in  to  see  me  before  he  went  away.'" 

Coleman,  wriggling  on  his  box,  put  the  wheel 
down  a  spoke,  then  another  spoke — one  more, 
and  her  mainsail  shivered;  another,  and  her  reef 
points  began  to  beat  a  tattoo;  yet  another,  and 
the  Maggie  began  to  back  down  on  the  Hiawatha; 
and  Coleman  kept  her  slowly  backing  till  the  two 
vessels  were  so  close  that  to  bring  them  closer 
would  be  dangerous. 

Shea,  with  not  so  much  as  a  pretense  that  he 
was  observing  his  brother-in-law's  manoeuvers, 
continued:  "* Maybe  you  were  asleep,  Dannie,' 
I  says,  *and  your  grandpa  didn't  want  to  wake 
you.'  *No,  no,  no,  I  warn't,  Uncle  Dan,'  he  says, 
*and  he  never  did  that  before.'  And  it's  true  for 
him,  Coleman.  It's  the  first  time  since  he  was 
old  enough  for  you  to  set  your  finger  between 
his  little  teeth,  or  him  to  put  his  hand  to  your 
beard  and  pull  it,  that  you  didn't  come  around 
to  toss  him  up  and  down  before  you  put  out  to 
sea — and  give  him  change  to  put  in  his  little  bank. 
Yes,  you've  been  spoiling  him  all  his  Hfe  and  then 

112 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

you  treat  him  like  he  was  a  stranger's  child  you 
hated.  And  he  cried  and  cried,  the  poor  little 
creature,  and  me  an  hour  late  to  the  dock  tryin' 
to  comfort  him.  And  he  told  his  mother  how  he 
wanted  to  tell  you  he'd  sent  a  letter  to  Santa 
Claus  to  get  him  a  train  of  cars " 

"Oh,  the  little  lad!"  Coleman  walked  to  the 
rail  of  the  Maggie  and  gazed  out  on  the  eternal 
ocean — gazed,  and  gazed,  and  gazed — and  went 
back  and  resumed  the  wheel. 

"And  Maggie,  Dan — what  did  Maggie  have  to 
say.?" 

"Maggie,  Coleman,  is  my  own  sister — and  a 
woman." 

"She's  all  that,  Dan.  For  thirty-odd  year  now 
she's  been  proving  it  to  me.  She  never  wanted  a 
tongue,  Dan." 

"Nor  a  heart,  Coleman.  And  she  could  kiss 
the  deck  under  your  feet.  *Tell  him,  if  you  see 
him,  Dannie,'  she  says — 'tell  Colie,  if  you  see 
him  out  there  on  the  wild  Georges,  that  he  mustn't 
be  minding  a  word  too  much  in  heat.  A  woman 
has  her  bad  days,  too,  only  she  can't  run  to  sea, 
maybe,  and  fight  winter  storms  and  forget  her 
troubles.  Tell  him,  Dannie,  that  't  will  be  the 
dreary  Christmas  without  him.'" 

Coleman  put  the  wheel  up,  and  up,  and  yet  up. 
While  still  Dan  was  in  doubt  as  to  his  brother- 

113 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

in-law's  intentions  the  Maggie  was  around  on  her 
heel.  She  swept  in  a  short  circle  and  came  trip- 
ping under  the  Hiawatha  s  stern.  "And  she  said 
that,  Dan?" 

"As  I  hope  to  be  buried  ashore,  Coleman — and 
cried  in  her  apron  when  she  said  it.  *Tell  Colie,' 
she  says " 

Dan  waited.  "Will  I  report  you  comin', 
Coleman  ?" 

Coleman  made  no  answer,  only  waved  his  hand 
and  bore  away.  Dan  watched  him,  saw  him  hoist 
his  hauling  signal  to  the  peak,  heard  him  hail 
Jerry  Connors  in  the  nearest  dory,  and  thereat, 
his  own  vessel  running  down  the  string,  he  smiled 
to  the  immortal  heavens.  "He'll  soon  be  himself 
again.  Soon  be  himself  again,  and  then — and 
then  all  hell  won't  stop  him." 

When  the  dories  had  put  ofF  from  the  vessel, 
that  morning,  Peter  Kane,  in  charge  of  one, 
thought  he  saw  a  great  chance  to  improve  on  his 
instructions.  "Set  to  the  eastward,"  the  skipper 
had  said.  Yet  Peter  and  his  dory-mate,  in  what 
they  considered  an  inspired  moment,  had  set  to 
the  westward — and  gone  far  astray.  And  so,  at 
eleven  o'clock  that  morning,  when,  in  response 
to  the  signal  at  the  peak,  the  other  nine  dories 
were  aboard,  there  was  no  sign  of  Peter's  dory. 
At  high  noon  the  crew  dropped  everything  and 

114 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

went  into  the  rigging  to  look  for  it.  During  all 
that  afternoon  they  searched.  At  dark,  when 
a  snowstorm  set  in,  they  were  still  searching. 
They  kept  the  foghorn  going,  the  anxious 
skipper  meanwhile  walking  the  deck  like  a  caged 
animal.  Suddenly  from  out  of  the  snow,  and 
almost  directly  under  the  astonished  eyes  of  a 
man  leaning  over  the  bow,  up  popped  the  missing 
dory. 

"Here  they  are,  Skipper!" 

"Where?  Glory  be,  where?  Thanks  be  to 
heaven,  so  it  is."  Then  he  lit  into  them.  Peter's 
dory-mate,  a  Frenchman,  was  about  to  tell  all 
hands  what  a  wonderful  ear  Peter  had — as  soon 
as  he  heard  the  foghorn  he  knew  just  where  it 
came  from — a  wonderful  ear 

"And  what  kind  of  an  ear  did  he  have,  this 
morning,  when  I  told  him  to  set  to  the  eastward  ? 
What  kind  of  an  ear,  hah  ?     Where  is  he  ? " 

Men  who  have  been  astray  for  ten  hours  in  a 
dory  on  a  winter's  day  generally  get  a  fairly  warm 
welcome  when  they  come  alongside — not  so  much 
in  words  as  in  hearty  helpings  over  the  rail  and 
kindly  glances — but  here  was  the  skipper  ready 
to  scalp  them,  almost;  a  man,  too,  who  was  famous 
for  the  feeling  he  could  put  into  a  few  words  at 
other  times.  "God  save  you,  Dinnie!"  or  Tom- 
mie,  or  whatever  it  was,  "but  Fm  glad  to  see  you 

115 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

again,"  and  with  a  look  that  would  warm  the  heart 
of  a  squid.     But  now! 

"  Is  it  you  or  me,  Peter  Kane,  is  master  of  this 
vessel  ?  Is  it  you  or  me,  do  y'  think,  lays  out  the 
work  and  has  to  keep  track  of  a  string  of  ten  dories 
on  thick  days  in  winter,  is  it  ?  And  a  storm  makin', 
is  it  ?  Here  weVe  been  laying  for  hours  and  now 
a  dead  beat  agin'  a  northeaster  to  get  off  the  bank. 
'T  would  make  a  saint  in  heaven  swear,  it  would. 
Go  forward,  now,  and  help  gripe  the  dories.  Bot- 
tom up  and  into  the  hatches  with  'em — double- 
gripe  'em  so  bimeby  they  won't  be  washin'  over 
the  rail.  And  hurry,  then,  and  shake  out  the  reef 
in  the  mains'l." 

To  the  man  at  the  wheel  he  added,  "Jibe  her 
over,  now,  and  time  it  is,  too — but  be  easy  on  her 
till  the  fish  is  dressed,  or  you'll  have  fish  and  men 
over  the  rail."  To  the  men  dressing  the  fish  he 
said,  "Hurry,  now,  b'ys — no  time  for  skylarkin'." 
To  the  forward  watch  he  commanded,  "Tommie, 
lad,  when  next  we  tack,  do  you  have  a  little  blue 
eye  out  for  the  handliners — we'll  be  in  the  thick 
of  them  by  then." 

Through  the  scattered  riding  lights  of  the  hand- 
lining  fleet  the  Maggie  worked  her  way,  while 
down  in  the  cabin  the  skipper,  his  wrath  against 
Peter  gradually  spluttering  out,  laid  himself  flat 
on    the    floor    and    marked   out  courses   for    the 

ii6 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

Maggie.  A  forefinger  was  on  a  much-dreaded  spot. 
"Fm  thinkin'  that,  with  the  wind  hauHn'  as  *t  is, 
I  could  cut  a  corner,  maybe,  off  the  North  Shoal.'* 
He  set  a  thumb  in  deep  water.  "Maybe — 
maybe — if  the  wind  keeps  haulin'."  He  gave  a 
few  hurried  puffs,  then,  to  keep  his  pipe  from  go- 
ing out,  and  went  on,  "Nice  and  handy,  yes,"  and 
he  manoeuvred  the  parallels  delicately  to  the 
west'ard,  breathing  heavily  the  while.  "  If  'twas 
workin'  to  the  north'ard  the  wind  was,  I  couldn't, 
but  with  it  workin'  to  the  s'uth'ard  't  will 
be  safe.  A  fine  notion,  that — to  cut  a  little 
corner  off  the  North  Shoal!"  He  climbed  up  on 
deck  to  consider.  "How's  the  compass  actin', 
Jerry?" 

"She's  not  so  bad.  Skipper.  Hops  once  in  a 
while,  but  gen'rally  points  ahead." 

"Yes,  it's  that  way — all  right  when  the  vessel's 
close  hauled  or  runnin'.  I've  been  studyin'  her 
the  two  weeks  past.  But,  when  the  wind's 
abeam,  she's  the  divil.  But  it  won't  be  abeam 
till  mornin',  Jerry.  So  let  her  go  nor'west,  for 
the  next  three  hours." 

"Wow!"  said  Jerry. 

"And  what  are  you  *  wowing'  about.?" 

"Me  tooth  give  a  jump." 

"Yer  tooth,  is  it.?  Yer  heart,  ye  mean.  Ye 
think  she's  cuttin'  too  close  ? " 

117 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

"Twenty  fathom  of  water — and  suppose  the 
wind  jumps  the  wrong  way?" 

"Man  ahve,  have  I  been  thirty-seven  winters 
to  Georges  for  nothing  ?  'T  won't  come  the  wrong 
way. 

It  was  as  the  skipper  said.  The  gale  worked 
to  the  southward  in  increasing  volume,  and  until 
seven  in  the  morning  they  were  tearing  off  the 
rapid  miles  of  white  water  from  the  easterly  bank 
of  the  North  Shoal.  Came  the  word,  then,  for 
the  home  course,  "West,  nor' west,  and  keep  her 
goin',  boy!" 

The  Maggie  was  then  a  joyful  sight  for  Cole- 
man or  whoever  else  loved  to  see  a  vessel  in  a 
breeze  of  wind. 

Clear  from  her  knightheads  to  her  taffrail  it 
was  nothing  but  water  racing  by  as  if  the  storm 
devils  were  driving  it.  All  her  lee  dories  were 
buried;  and  the  lee  half  of  her  house  was  not 
merely  awash,  but  clean  buried  under  it.  Where 
it  surged  between  house  and  rail  it  was  a  wild  tor- 
rent throwing  up  boiling  foam.  Could  a  tall 
man  have  gone  down  into  the  lee  scuppers  of  her 
waist  and  held  his  feet,  he  would  have  been  up 
to  his  neck  in  solid  water.  To  keep  the  rush  of 
water  from  below,  the  hatches  were  drawn  over 
the  forec's'le  companionway;  but  by  way  of  the 
binnacle  box  [this  had,  of  course,  to    be  left  un- 

Ii8 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

covered],  which,  in  the  Maggie,  was  exactly  amid- 
ships, with  its  under  edge  more  than  a  foot  above 
deck,  a  steady  stream  of  water  was  pouring  into 
the  cabin. 

An  hour  later,  when  Peter  Kane  went  on  watch, 
she  was  taking  the  gale  fair  abeam,  with  her  lee  rail 
buried  beyond  all  the  laws  of  equilibrium  and  a 
twenty-foot  belt  of  white  sea  flattened  out  from 
her  side.  Peter  had  to  set  the  upper  board  into 
the  cabin  companionway,  which  was  well  to  wind- 
ward, on  this,  the  port  tack,  of  the  centre  of  the 
vessel's  deck — to  keep  the  flood  of  water  from 
rushing  into  the  cabin  by  way  of  the  companion 
stairs. 

Lashed  to  the  wheel,  then,  with  the  clear  water, 
no  mere  swash,  to  his  waist,  stood  Tom  Lenoir, 
better  known  as  Tom  Black,  who,  from  out  of 
his  French  patois  was  trying  to  find  words  to  fit 
the  airs  that  were  suggested  to  him  as  the  water 
swept  up  to  his  body,  then  rushed  past  the  wheel- 
box  and  away  over  the  taflFrail  behind  him.  From 
the  French  coast  of  Newfoundland  was  Tom, 
and  they  used  to  say  of  him  that,  since  somebody 
stuck  an  axe  in  his  head  about  a  year  before 
this,  he  had  never  been  right.  Peter  was  sup- 
posed to  be  standing  watch  while  Tom  steered, 
but  all  that  could  be  seen  of  Peter  was  a  head 
under  the  fore  boom.     The  rest  of  him  was  made 

119 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

fast  to  the  bow-gripes  of  the  windward  dories, 
where  he  considered  that  he  was  doing  pretty  well 
because  of  managing  matters  so  that  he  was  not 
washed  overboard. 

It  is  in  such  hours  that  these  men  with  poetry 
in  their  souls  create  hymns  which  would  live  on  to 
immortality  were  only  the  men  of  the  conserva- 
tories within  hearing  and  sufficiently  at  ease  to 
use  their  specially-trained  faculties.  Peter  was 
ridding  himself  of  the  storings  of  a  thousand 
melancholy  nights,  and  there  was  a  swelling  note 
in  Tom's  chant.  A  man  could  have  gauged  the 
rise  of  the  water  around  their  bodies  by  the  height 
of  the  note  in  their  storm  songs.  "They're  both 
crazy,"  said  one,  poking  his  head  above  the  cabin 
hatch  for  a  moment.  "They'll  lose  the  vessel, 
yet."  Aloud,  one  shouted,  "You  wild  man  from 
Bonne  Bay,  why  don't  you  ease  off  that  mainsheet 
afore  you  blow  it  off,  or  capsize  us,  or  something  ? " 

"Ease  the  sheet  ?  Me^  No, no,  Jackie, not  me, 
an'  bimeby  have  skipper  say,  if  we  no  get  home 
to-night,  *  Blast  that  Frenchie! — on'y  for  heem  we 
mak'  a  fine  pas-sage.  He  lose  hees  nerve  an'  ease 
off  the  sheet.'  No,  no,  Jackie.  Skipper  say,  *  Kip 
her  going,  and  I  kippin'  her  going,  by  gar!" 

"Why,  of  course  we  kept  swinging  her  off," 
said  Peter,  when,  below  and  his  watch  done,  he 
was  wringing  his  mitts  out  by  the  cabin  stove, 

120 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

"but  'twas  Tom  was  making  all  the  noise.  Every 
time  she  rolled  down  he'd  holler,  wild-like.  Man, 
but  there's  some  water  on  her  deck  now.  And 
her  foresheets  are  like  iron  with  the  strain  on  'em. 
If  ever  they  go!  Blessed  lucky  thing,  I  say, 
we  rove  a  brand-new  foresheet  afore  we  came  out, 
this  trip — blessed  lucky,  warn't  it.  Skipper.?" 

"Yes,  Peter,  lucky  enough.  No  danger  of  it 
parting  and  delayin'  us  on  the  way.  How's  the 
compass  .f*" 

"  Jumpin'-like.  One  time  nor'west  and  again 
due  west.  Once  in  a  while,  though,  it  makes  a 
crazy  leap  to  straight  no'th  and  again  to  south." 

"But  she's  going  along  herself .f*" 

"Man,  like  a  message  to  heaven,  if  we  only 
knew  just  which  way  to  call  it — west  or  nor'west." 

"Oh,  well,  we'll  strike  an  average  and  call  it 
west-nor'west." 

By  and  by  arrived  one  who  was  soon  to  go  on 
watch.  He  was  new  to  the  vessel  and  to  the  skip- 
per. Apparently  to  Peter  Kane,  but  wishing 
really  to  get  the  skipper's  ear,  he  gave  voice  to  his 
opinion.  "Comin'  forward  now  and  lookin'  at 
her,  it  was  scand'lous.  Water  on  her  deck  to 
frighten  a  man,  and  gettin'  worse.  Worth  a  man's 
life,  now,  to  throw  his  life-line  off  for  a  minute. 
Scand'lous,  I  call  it." 

The  skipper,  whittling  a  little  model  of  a  fisher- 
121 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

man,  eyed  him  sidewise.  "Scand'lous,  hah? 
And  what's  it  you  fear — she'll  capsize,  eh  ?  Well, 
have  no  fear — this  one  won't  capsize — the  spars  '11 
come  out  of  her  first." 

"But,"  gasped  the  man,  "spars  out  of  her  on  a 
lee  shore  and  a  day  like  this — where'd  she  fetch 
up  ?     I've  a  fam'ly — wife  and  children." 

"And  that's  the  amazin'  thing,"  exclaimed  the 
skipper — "a  fam'ly  and  no  hurry  to  get  home! 
It's  because  I've  a  wife  and  children — and  grand- 
children— that  I'm  drivin'  this  one  now.  Christ- 
mas Eve,  man — surely  you'd  like  to  be  home  for 
Christmas?  Surely!  Well,  then,  trust  to  me 
— I  know  the  Maggie,  and  't  is  this  kind  of 
weather  she  was  built  for.  I've  seen  plenty 
could  beat  her  driftin',  and  a  few  outfoot  her  in 
a  fresh  breeze;  but  on  a  day  like  this!  Believe 
me,  b'y,  the  vessel  of  her  tonnage  was  never 
launched  to  outsmash  her — not  when  she's  goin' 
home,  anyway.  And  she's  goin'  home,  now — 
goin'  home."  He  tossed  a  shaving  into  the  fire 
— "and  to-night,  barrin'  what  no  man  can  fore- 
see, you'll  be  buyin'  monkey-jacks  up  on  Wash- 
ington Street  to  put  in  your  children's  stockings 
— yes.  And  I'll  be  home  this  night  and  fill  little 
Dannie's  stocking.  But  I  think  I'll  go  for'ard 
and  have  a  mug  of  coffee."  He  set  his  unfin- 
ished model  on  the  whetstone  that  lay  on  the  floor 

122 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

to  windward  of  the  stove.  "Don't  any  of  ye 
dare  touch  that,"  he  said. 

Jerry  Connors  watched  his  legs  disappear. 
"There's  a  man,  now,  and  to  see  him  at  the  head 
of  the  dock  leadin'  his  Httle  grandson  by  the  hand, 
stuffing  his  Httle  fist  full  of  pennies  and  his  pockets 
full  of  candy,  you'd  say  there  never  was  a  more 
harmless  man  born.  Yes,  sir,  the  most  harmless 
man  alive,  you'd  say;  but  Lord  help  the  man 
who  thinks  so  and  ships  with  him,  and  happens  to 
be  anyways  nervous." 

In  the  swash  of  water  pouring  through  the  bin- 
nacle box  various  small  articles  were  floating 
about  the  floor,  which  nobody  minded  much  until 
Eddie  Bligh,  returning  from  the  forec's'le,  let  in 
a  hogshead  or  more  of  loose  water  before  he  could 
draw  the  sHde. 

"Man  alive,  haven't  we  enough  water  already  ?" 

"Water?  Where?  Here?  Sure,  you're  fine 
and  dry  here.  It's  in  the  forec's'le  y'  ought  to  be. 
There's  some  water — a  steady  stream  comin'  down 
by  the  pawl-post,  another  stream  by  the  stove,  and 
a  ton  of  water  by  way  of  the  hatch  every  time 
anybody  goes  on  deck,  and  her  wind'ard  planks 
opening  up  under  the  strain  of  the  sail  on  her  so 
that  the  sea  is  comin'  through  her  and  driving 
everybody  out  of  the  bunks  on  that  side." 

"And  a  few  loose  drops  on  the  floor,  I  s'pose  ?" 
123 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

"Oh,  no  more  than  up  to  your  knees  in  it — 
everybody  wearin'  rubber  boots." 

An  extra  heavy  surge  came  through  the  bin- 
nacle box,  and  Eddie,  standing  carelessly  beneath, 
whooped  with  the  suddenness  of  it  and  was  ap- 
peased only  by  the  sight  of  Jerry  chasing  across 
the  cabin  after  his  slipshods,  which  had  floated 
from  the  windward  lockers  over  to  the  lee  lockers, 
where  they  filled  and  sank.  "Stand  over  by  the 
stove,  Eddie,  and  dry  yourself,"  said  Peter,  who 
had  been  washed  out  of  his  own  after-lee  bunk, 
hours  ago,  and  Eddie  came  to  windward,  which 
brought  him  directly  under  the  broken  skylight. 
She  gave  a  real  good  roll  and  a  barrel  or  so  of  cold 
sea  water  landed  on  Eddie's  back.  He  hopped 
about  and  swore,  it  was  again  so  sudden,  but 
everybody  else  laughed  prodigiously. 

They  had  to  cut  up  to  forget  their  discomfort. 
Those  who  owned  windward  bunks  were  moder- 
ately happy,  for  they  were  fairly  dry  and  had  only 
to  brace  themselves  and  lie  there.  All  others 
caught  it.  Various  schemes  were  devised  to  stay 
in  one  spot.  Peter  Kane,  jamming  his  back  in 
the  corner  of  the  cabin  where  locker  and  bulk- 
head met,  with  a  becket  for  his  feet,  hung  fast  for 
five  minutes,  to  his  glory.  Most  of  them  braced 
their  backs  square  to  the  windward  lockers  and 
thrust  their  feet  straight  out  on  the  floor,  with  cov- 

124 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

ers  removed  from  the  lockers,  elbows  hooked 
down  inside,  and  so  made  out  pretty  well.  But 
the  floor  of  the  cabin  was  a  steep  jumping  place! 
Sometimes  the  vessel  would  sizzle  along  beauti- 
fully for  perhaps  two  minutes  and  everybody  would 
relax,  when  whoop-p!  a  good  sea  would  get  under 
her  and  up  she^d  jump,  and  down  she'd  roll,  and 
away  would  go  the  sitters,  skidding  beautifully 
across  the  cabin  floor,  while  those  standing  would 
be  shot  flying  down  and  across,  yelling  as  they 
went  and  slapping  resoundingly  the  bare  boards 
with  their  palms  as  they  fetched  up  suddenly  on 
the  other  side.  At  such  times  the  snug  gentle- 
men in  the  windward  bunks  would  laugh  uproar- 
iously, and  say  delightfully  funny  but  unappre- 
ciated things  between  their  shrieks  of  glee. 

The  skipper,  returning  from  the  forec's'le,  at 
once  got  out  his  long  sharp  knife  and  began  to 
whet  it  on  the  leg  of  his  jackboot.  "And  what 
are  they  talking  about  for'ard,  Skipper?" 

"Oh,  one  thing  and  another — the  cook  com- 
plainin'  of  broken  mugs,  but  the  gang  talkin'  of 
Christmas  and  sail-carryin',  mostly.  There's  two 
wild  men  in  upper  bunks  and  'tis  comical  to  see 
them — one  in  the  top  peak  bunk  and  the  other  in 
the  top  after  bunk — and  with  the  noise  of  the  water 
rushin'  under  her  bows  they  have  to  howl  like 
banshees    to    make    themselves    heard.     Talkin* 

125 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

about  sail-carryin'  they  were.  *I  was  with,  this 
one/  says  the  one,  'when  she  made  such  a  passage,' 
and  *I  was  with  that  one,'  says  the  other,  *when 
she  made  such  a  passage.' 

"  Sail-carry  in' .?"  resumed  the  skipper,  after  a 
pause,  and  he  cast  an  eye  about  as  if  in  search  of 
something — "  sail-carryin' !  half  of  'em  don't  know 
what  it  is." 

"You've  carried  some  sail,  yourself,  in  your 
time.  Skipper  ?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  Let  a  man  begin  to 
talk  of  what  sail  he's  carried  and  he  begins  to 
boast,  and,  sure  as  fate,  something  happens. 
But  I  suppose,  if  I  was  put  to  it,  I'd  carry  with 
the  next.  But  I  never  was  put  to  it;  though,  in 
thirty-seven  winters  from  Georges,  I've  yet  to 
heave-to  makin'  a  passage,  though  as  to  that, 
again,  maybe  it  never  came  rough  enough  to  give 
cause  to  heave-to;  and  yet,  in  thirty-seven  winters, 
a  man  sees  some  blue  times  comin'  home  from 
Georges.  Yes  sir," — he  cast  anxious  eyes  about 
the  cabin  floor^"yes,  sir,  in  thirty-seven — where 
in  the  divil's  that  little  boat?  Did  none  of  ye 
have  an  eye  to  it  while  I  was  for'ard :  I  left  it 
dryin'  by  the  stove — the  little  boat  I  was  makin' 
for  Dannie's  stockin',  to-night.  Did  none  of  ye 
see  it?" 

"That  little  block  of  wood.  Skipper?  The 
126 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

time  my  slipshods  went  floatin'  oflF  I  saw  that  little 
block  of  wood  go  floatin*  off  toward  your  room, 
Skipper." 

And  so  they  found  it  sailing  around  in  the  skip- 
per's stateroom.  Grief  was  writ  in  the  skipper's 
face  as  he  held  it  up. 

"Look,  now,  soakin'  wet — the  little  boat  I 
thought  to  have  ready  by  the  time  we  got  in.  Why, 
Dannie  'd  set  more  store  by  one  little  boat  Fd 
""make  him  than  a  whole  fleet  of  them  queer- 
painted  traps  they  sell  in  the  stores.  Yes,  indeed," 
and  dolefully  he  regarded  the  unwhittleable  block 
of  wood.     "Why,  I  wouldn't — Lord  in  heaven!" 

They  all  felt  the  terrible  shock.  As  suddenly 
as  a  sea  could  overtake  her  and  strike,  it  came. 
From  out  of  a  windward  bunk  came  Oscar  Neil- 
sen,  hurled  through  space,  touching  nothing  till 
his  side  struck  the  top  of  the  stove.  Down  she 
went — quick  as  that,  and  just  as  quickly  as  that 
the  little  skipper  took  his  two  strides  to  the 
companionway.  With  one  yank  of  his  hand  the 
usually  stubborn  slide  was  driven  back.  Tons 
of  water  came  in  as  he  went  out.  At  one  glance 
he  had  the  situation  measured.  He  sprang  onto 
the  house  and  onto  the  rail,  the  only  part  of  her 
that  was  out  of  water  aft,  and  ran  along  the  high 
rail  hke  a  cat  to  the  rigging.  One  instant  he  poised 
there  for  balance  and  then  leaped  for  the  saddle 

127 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

of  the  main  mast.  Then  he  sprang  along  the 
boom  and  out  to  where  the  great  sail  lay  bellied 
in  the  water.  Cut-t!  slash-h!  cut-t! — with  the 
knife  he  had  been  whetting  for  Httle  Dannie's 
boat.  It  was  the  heaviest  of  canvas  and  soaked 
in  brine,  but  the  little  man's  nervous  arm  made 
waxed  paper  of  it. 

She  was  fairly  hove  down,  her  spars  all  but  flat 
out  on  the  water.  They  watched  her,  a  dozen 
men  now  on  deck,  to  see  if  she  would  settle,  and, 
in  the  end,  turn  bottom  up.  That  was  what  it 
might  mean.  Because  the  heavy  seas  pounded 
her  as  she  lay,  that  danger  was  probable.  Many 
vessels  would  have  sunk  then  and  there.  Even 
some  fishermen  would  have  gone  down  in  a  few 
minutes.  But  all  that  the  skipper  had  boasted 
of  the  Maggie  seemed  to  be  in  the  way  of  proof. 

"Like  an  intelligent  horse  that  is  thrown,  she  is 
trying  to  rise.  Look  at  her!  She'll  come  out  of 
it  all  right,"  said  Coleman  but  he  watched  her 
anxiously,  nevertheless. 

Gradually  she  came  up,  the  skipper  eyeing  her 
all  the  time.  "  Beau-ti-ful !  Beau-ti-ful!"  he  mur- 
mured. 

After  she  righted  herself,  they  furled  the  hacked 
mainsail,  put  the  main  boom  in  the  chock,  and  got 
out  the  trysail.  Soft-spoken,  calm-eyed  men  were 
these,  the  little  skipper  in  the  van,  who  balanced 

128 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

themselves  in  her  stern,  crawled  out  on  her  foot- 
ropes,  and,  while  the  big  seas  bade  fair  to  over- 
power them,  swiftly  set  things  to  rights. 

Back  in  the  cabin  again  the  skipper  took  note 
of  the  time  and  sighed.  "Eye-ah,  a  good  hour 
lost!  Who  was  at  the  wheel  ^  Fred  ?  Sure,  and 
he  must  Ve  been  careless  to  get  her  caught  like 
that.  But  we'll  make  it,  yet.  Glory  be — a  fair 
wind,  and  we'll  make  it  yet!" 

On  her  way  again  the  Maggie,  now  with  the 
huge  mainsail  off  her,  would  have  waltzed  down 
the  line  like  a  lady  were  it  not  that  the  wind  in- 
creased. It  was  not  enough  that  it  blew  a  living 
gale  in  the  rnorning,  but  it  must  come  a  tornado 
now.  Even  the  skipper  thought  it  time  to  look 
after  things  above,  but  hardly  more  than  a  look. 
"Just  a  bit  of  the  foresheet  to  take  in,  b'ys,  and 
she'll  be  all  right." 

Up  they  climbed  on  deck  and  gathered  in  groups 
till  the  helmsman  would  ease  her.  Looking  out 
on  the  waters,  then,  the  vessel  seemed  like  some- 
thing rushing  about  the  base  of  great,  shifting  hills 
— dirty-green,  white-trimmed,  over-curling  hills  of 
water,  hill  succeeding  hill,  with  the  presumptu- 
ous little  vessel  dodging  away  into  the  valleys. 
There  was  Jimmie  Curran,  who,  with  Frenchie  and 
Peter  Kane,  was  standing  on  the  break  as  the  ship 
was  brought  into  the  wind.     There  came  a  little 

129 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

sea,  nothing  to  notice.  To  Jimmie  it  looked  no 
bigger  than  a  dory  on  the  side  of  the  mountain  of 
water  off  which  it  broke.  "That's  not  going  to 
bother  anybody  here,"  was  Jimmie's  mental  com- 
ment. But  even  old  fishermen  are  fooled,  some- 
times. Frenchie  and  Peter  Kane  Were  safe  enough 
— handy  to  the  dory  tackle  were  they  when  it 
struck — but  Jimmie  went  floating  down  to  lee- 
ward. He  was  buried  in  it.  As  he  rolled  over 
and  over  in  it  he  put  out  his  arms  to  grab  some- 
thing. He  did  grab  something.  Jerry  Connors 
it  was,  also  overturned  by  the  same  deceptive 
little  sea.  "Well,  if  I  do  go  I  got  a  chum,"  mur- 
mured Jimmie.  As  it  turned  out  Jimmie  did  not 
go  that  time,  for  Jerry,  the  able  man,  caught  hold 
of  the  dory-gripes  on  the  lee  side  and  clung  to 
them  desperately,  and  from  there  the  others,  when 
they  had  done  laughing,  rescued  them. 

The  Maggie  could  not  go  along  in  that  breeze 
without  various  things  happening.  Jerry,  having 
returned  to  the  cabin,  had  not  done  putting  salve 
to  his  lip,  which,  he  averred,  had  been  spHt  by 
Curran's  fist  in  the  mix-up  on  deck,  when  a  great 
scurry  of  boot  heels  was  heard  overhead,  and  a 
great  yelling.  A  moment  later,  Fred  Jones,  the 
forward  watch,  slid  back  the  cabin  hatch  and 
leaped  into  the  companionway,  all  in  one  motion, 
as  it  were,  and  yelling  at  the  same  time,  "Here 

130 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

comes  the  jeesliest  sea — clear  white  and  high  as  the 
masthead!"  and  to  his  mate  at  the  wheel,  "Hang 
on,  Ed — hang  on!" — here  he  drew  the  hatch. 

"Aye,  hang  on,  Eddie — hang  on,  Eddie!" 
yelled  the  cabin  gang,  bracing  themselves  for  the 
shock,  and  already  shrieking  with  glee  to  think 
of  Eddie  at  the  wheel  watching  the  big  sea  coming 
on. 

It  came  and  hit  the  side  of  the  vessel  such  a  clip 
as  a  fast-traveling  mountain  of  water  can.  Over 
rolled  the  Maggie.  Men  in  the  windward  bunks 
looked  down  perpendicularly  at  the  lee  bunks. 
"No  stove  for  me  this  time,"  piped  Oscar,  and  he 
spread  himself  across  his  mattress  as  a  cat,  with 
spreading  claws,  clings  to  a  window  grating  from 
which  she  fears  to  be  torn.  Down,  down! — 
"Mother  o'  God,  will  she  never  stop  V  exclaimed 
Curran;  but  a  deluge  of  water  poured  through  a 
slit  in  the  hatch — "  Jones,  you  omadhoun — Jones, 
you  scallawag,  the  curse  of  Crom'll  on  you!  why 
didn't  you  draw  that  hatch  ?"  yelled  half  a  dozen 
others. 

She  hung  for  a  time  in  the  balance,  and  then — 
at  such  times  a  few  seconds  is  a  long  time — up  she 
came  and  threw  everybody  the  other  way.  Jones 
jumped  on  deck  again.  Instantly  he  broke  into 
a  roar,  and  the  others  crowded  after  him.  They 
had  to  laugh,  too,  for  there  was  Eddie  spread 

131 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

across  the  mainboom,  where  he  had  been  washed 
by  the  sea.  Standing  on  deck  the  boom  must 
have  been  more  than  a  foot  above  his  head,  which 
meant  that  it  must  have  been  a  good  able  sea  to 
cast  him  there. 

Eddie  was  hauled  down  and  stood  on  his  feet. 
*'And  a  blessed  lucky  thing  you  had  a  good  stout 
life-line  around  you,  Eddie,  boy,"  commented  one 
of  the  rescuers. 

"That's  all  right — no  harm  done — but  who 
were  the  crazy  fools  who  hollered  out,  *Hang  on, 
Eddie — hang  on!'  What  did  y'  think? — I  was 
going  to  jump  overboard.?  'Hang  on!' — W-ugh! 
I'll  be  coughin'  up  salt  for  a  week.  Where's  the 
skipper — gone  below  ?  Then  blast  this  carryin' 
sail,  I  say!  That  barkeeper  was  right  when  he 
told  me  to  stay  ashore  this  trip.  Lord,  I'll  bet 
there  warn't  a  foot  of  her  wind'ard  rail  out  of 
water  when  she  rolled  down." 

When  Eddie  came  off  watch  he  reported  it 
thicker  than  ever  above,  so  thick  a  man  couldn't 
see  the  length  of  the  vessel  ahead.  "And  I'm 
thinkin',  Skipper,  we  ought  to  be  gettin'  handy  to 
Cape  Cod." 

"Not  yet  awhile.  But  you're  the  third  man  to 
hint  at  that,  and.  Lord  knows,  I  don't  want  the 
name  of  a  reckless  man;  so,  if  it  will  ease  ye  any, 
you  might  tell  the  watch  to  heave  her  to  and  sound 

132 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

— but  don't  waste  any  time  at  it.  But  FU  tell 
you,  afore  you  go,  you'll  find  no  bottom." 

When  they  came  down  and  reported  no  bottom, 
the  skipper  only  said,  "  Bide  by  me  and  Fll  tell  ye 
when  it  '11  be  time  to  sound."  This  he  did  when, 
three  quarters  of  an  hour  later,  he  hailed  out: 
"Now  let  ye  heave  the  lead  and  ye'll  get  forty-one 
fathom  and  gray  sand,  and  ye'll  find  Cape  Cod 
Light,  if  it's  clear — which  it  isn't,  ye  tell  me — '11 
be  bearing  three  miles  south  by  west." 

They  found  the  predicted  depth  and  bottom, 
but  no  sight  of  the  light,  it  was  so  thick.  "And 
what'U  we  do  now.  Skipper — keep  her  goin'  as 
she  is.?" 

"How's  the  compass  actin'.?" 

"Still  jumpin' — ^just  like  the  weather-vane 
atop  of  a  fire-engine  house  on  a  squally  day." 

"That  so.?"  He  left  his  bunk,  stuck  his  head 
out  of  the  companionway,  took  a  sniff,  then  an- 
other, and  then  said;  "'T  is  sou'  sou'west — this 
breeze.  Keep  it  fair  abeam  as  you  can  and  let  her 
go — that'll  be  west  nor' west — and  at  five  o'clock, 
and  ye  don't  check  her,  and  nothing  gets  in  her 
way,  she'll  poke  the  end  of  her  bowsprit  through 
Minot's  Light." 

Below  he  came,  then,  with  a  fresh  light  in  his 
eyes.  "Cape  Cod,  eh?  Getting  near,  getting 
near" — and  he  began  to  hum  lively  little  jigs  to 

^33 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

himself,  particularly  those  wherein,  to  interpret 
them  properly,  you  want  to  take  a  little  boy  on 
your  knee  and  jog  him  merrily  up  and  down. 
Up  on  deck,  about  that  time,  the  wind  was  of  such 
force  that  the  men  on  watch  were  unable  to  face  it, 
and  "Will  he  ease  her,  d'y'  think,  if  we  speak  to 
him  ?"  one  was  asking  of  another. 

"Ease  her?  Him?  Didn't  y*  see  him,  and 
hear  him,  when  you  came  up  ?" 

How  many  miles  to  Dublin  town? ' 
'Threescore  and  ten,  sir.' 
*  Will  I  be  there  by  candlelight? ' 
*Yes,  and  back  again,  sir.' 

"Will  he  ease  her?  He'll  welt  hell  out  of  her 
now — that's  what  he'll  do.  He's  in  the  humor 
to  give  the  first  stranger  he  meets  his  bank  book, 
or  the  shirt  off  his  back  to  his  worst  enemy;  but 
take  a  square  inch  of  canvas  oflF  Ker — he  wouldn't 
do  it  for  his  hope  of  heaven." 

Coming  across  the  bay,  and  it  yet  blowing  so 
hard  that  the  men  on  watch  couldn't  bear  to  look 
to  windward — just  the  drops  of  water  blowing  off 
the  tops  of  the  seas  cut  their  eyeballs,  and  it  was 
so  thick  that  the  man  at  the  wheel  could  not  see 
his  mate  between  the  dories.  Still  the  word  was, 
"Keep  her  goin'!"  The  watch,  peering  into  the 
wild  gloom,  only  prayed  that  nothing  would  get 
in  her  way. 

134 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

Nothing  did  get  in  the  way.  The  number  of 
Minot's  Ledge  flashed  out  almost  to  the  tick  of 
5.30,  just  as  the  wonderful  Httle  man  had  pre- 
dicted, which  the  crew  took  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Could  it  come  any  other  way  ?  They  followed 
their  wonderful  skipper  on  deck  to  prepare  for  the 
short  cuts  up  the  harbor. 

"Will  I  be  there  by  candlelight?" — he  was  in 
rare  humor  as  he  shot  for  the  Narrows,  that 
Christmas  Eve.  No  lonesome  Christmas  dinner 
on  Georges,  this  trip!  No,  sir.  But  they  were 
not  home  yet.  Just  entering  the  Narrows  they 
were,  when  the  wind  jumped,  as  quickly  as  a  man 
may  twirl  his  thumb,  to  northwest — dead  in  their 
teeth.  The  skipper  swore  softly  to  himself.  A 
northwest  gale,  and  of  hurricane  strength !  Well, 
they  had  to  meet  it,  and  he  went  forward  to  pick 
a  road  for  her  in  the  dark. 

Lying  flat  out  on  the  knightheads  he  gave  his 
orders  to  the  bunch  of  men  in  the  waist,  who  in 
turn  passed  them  on  to  the  wheel,  where  now  were 
two  men.  "Hard  a-lee!" — across  the  shriek  of 
a  gale  so  loud  that  the  gang  in  the  waist  had  to 
roar  in  unison  to  make  it  carry  to  where  the  helms- 
men were  tugging  to  keep  her  from  running 
amuck. 

The  harbor  was  crowded  with  outward-bound 
craft,  held  up  by  the  gale.     The  sight  of  them, 

^35 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

cold-bloodedly  preparing  to  go  to  sea  the  day  be- 
fore Christmas,  provoked  some  of  the  crew  to  ex- 
pressions of  the  deepest  disgust.  "The  heathens! 
they'll  make  their  money  if  they  have  to  crucify 
Christ  over  again." 

"But  they  have  their  schedules  to  make." 

"Well,  who  makes  the  schedules  that  makes 
vessels  sail  the  day  before  Christmas  ? — who  but 
men  who  care  more  for  a  dollar  than  a  hundred 
Christmas  days  V 

"Hard-a-lee!"  roared  the  skipper,  and  across 
she  shot  till  her  bowsprit  was  all  but  into  the  dark 
side  of  some  kind  of  craft  at  anchor — and  again, 
"Hard-a-lee!" — and  yet  again,  just  as  all  began 
to  think  she  was  going  to  pile  up  on  the  rocks 
on  the  other  side  of  the  channel.  "Hard-a- 
lee!" — now  for  a  big  collier — "Hard-a-lee!" — 
now  an  ocean  liner — "Hard-a-lee!" — a  tramp 
with  swinging  stern,  so  close  that  men  on  her  deck 
hailed  out  profane  protests.  "Oh,  wait  till  you're 
hit,"  hurled  back  the  Maggie's  crew,  as  round  she 
came,  and  off  on  the  other  tack  she  shot.  "Hard- 
a-lee!  Hard-a-lee!" — the  skipper  flat  out  on  the 
knightheads,  the  gang  in  the  waist,  and  the  two 
straining  men  at  the  wheel,  and  the  Maggie  shoot- 
ing from  one  side  to  the  other  of  the  narrow  chan- 
nel in  the  blackness  of  the  night. 

She  was  through  the  worst  of  it  at  last,  and  no 
136 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

sooner  through  than  the  squalls  ceased,  the  wind 
let  down,  and  the  stars  came  out.  "  Now,  wouldn't 
that  kill  you?''  exploded  the  gang.  "When 
you've  won  out,  everything  comes  your  way!" 

Through  the  inner  harbor  she  tacked — the  inner 
harbor  that  was  ever  crowded ;  but 't  was  a  chance 
for  a  vessel  that  could  sail  and  was  handled  right, 
and  both  were  true  of  the  Maggie,  now  well 
loosened  after  her  passage.  She  was  yet  awaking 
some  little  discussions,  as  she  picked  her  way 
through  the  inner  harbor.  Again  and  again  she 
seemed  about  to  board  some  craft  on  the  road; 
but  always,  before  it  was  too  late,  she  slid  by  or 
went  off  on  her  heel.  The  more  wrathful  the 
ejaculations,  the  sweeter  the  skipper  smiled. 
With  every  word  he  was  nearing  home,  and, 
besides,  he  was  at  the  wheel  himself,  now,  and 
the  kind  of  enjoyment  that  little  boys  get  out 
of  sailing  toy  yachts  across  frog  ponds  was  his 
in  sailing  the  Maggie  through  the  overcrowded 
harbor. 

He  brought  her  to  the  dock  himself,  not  lowering 
a  sail  until  he  was  almost  into  the  slip,  nor  letting 
go  the  wheel  until  he  had  given  the  last  shoot  that 
sent  her  all  but  up  Atlantic  avenue,  that  would 
have  sent  the  end  of  her  bowsprit  through  the  rear 
of  an  oyster -dealer's  shack  at  the  head  of  the  slip 
only  for  the  active  men  that  leaped  flying  aboard 

137 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

the  nearest  of  the  docked  vessels  and  checked  her 
speed  with  quick-hitched  Hnes.  It  was  the  kind  of 
performance  not  often  seen  in  these  days  of  cheap 
tows,  and  nobody  to  see  it  then  but  the  watchman. 
And  he,  when  he  had  verified  the  vessel,  took  no 
further  note  of  it  beyond,  "Coleman  down  to  a 
trys'l!" — and  casually,  a  moment  later,  to  Peter 
Kane — **Must  've  been  blowin'  some  outside!" 

"So  it  was;  but  no  trys'l,"  indignantly  returned 
Peter,  "only  we  busted  our  mains'l." 

After  she  was  docked,  Coleman  only  stopped 
long  enough  on  the  Maggie  to  make  an  examina- 
tion of  Nielsen,  who  had  convinced  himself  during 
the  day  that  some  ribs  had  been  broken  the  time 
he  was  thrown  from  his  bunk  and  laid  across  the 
stove.  "Look,  Skipper,  she's  all  black  and  blue," 
— and  he  showed  his  bared  side  in  proof.  So  he 
was,  poor  man!  but  not  too  much  sympathy  did 
the  Httle  man  give  him.  "Just  bein'  black  and 
blue  don't  mean  they're  broken.  Man,  I've  been 
that  way  forty  times.  Put  on  your  shirt  and  go 
home  and  stuff  your  grandchildren's  stockin's." 

"Gran' children.  Skipper.  Why,  I  haf  no  gran'- 
children — not  efen  children." 

"You  poor,  unfortunate  creature!  And  what 
matter  how  your  ribs  are,  then  ?  Lock  the  cabin 
when  you  leave,"  answered  Coleman,  and  he  hur- 
ried onto  the  dock. 

138 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

Up  on  the  street  he  boarded  the  first  south-bound 
red  trolley  car  he  found,  and,  knowing  he  had  a  half- 
hour's  ride  before  him,  dropped  into  a  corner  seat 
and  tried  to  act  the  patient  man.  But  the  snow 
lay  on  the  ground,  and  riding  was  slow  work,  and, 
absent-mindedly,  he  took  his  pipe  from  his  coat 
pocket.  Only  when  the  conductor  fixed  on  him 
a  glittering  eye  did  he  bethink  himself  and  put  it 
back.  The  car  turned  one  corner,  turned  another 
corner,  made  a  long  straight  run  of  it,  and  was 
about  to  shoot  around  a  third  corner,  when  a 
wagon  butted  in  on  the  track,  and,  the  rails  being 
slippery  under  the  fresh  snow,  there  was  a  collision. 
It  was  not  a  violent  shock — no  more  than  to  throw 
most  of  the  passengers  from  their  seats.  Coleman 
held  his — it  seemed  as  natural  as  a  heaving  deck, 
but  the  old  lady  across  the  way  bounced  into  his 
lap.  Coleman  set  her  back  on  the  cushions. 
"My  soul!"  she  piped,  "who'd  ever  think  you  was 
so  strong.  But  ain't  it  dangerous  travelling  on 
these  'lectric  cars!" 

"Terr'ble  dangerous,  ma'am,"  agreed  Cole- 
man, and,  that  being  his  corner,  he  got  up  to 
get  oflF. 

"I  can't  say  I  blame  you,  nowise,"  called  the 
old  lady  as  he  went  out  the  door — "the  dangers  of 
travelling,  these  times!" 

Coleman  took  himself  to  a  toy  store  on  a  broad, 

139 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

lighted  street.  HeM  had  the  place  in  his  eye  for 
weeks.  The  girl  behind  the  counter  seemed  rather 
to  like  his  looks.  "Something  for  the  children .?" 
she  insinuated.  "Wheelbarrows,  letter  blocks,  gas 
balls,  skates,  sled " 

"A  train  of  cars,  first — a  fine  long  train  with 
smoke  all  ready  to  come  out  the  ingine,  if  you 
have  'em  that  way." 

"Well,  not  quite  that  way,  but  here's  one  can 
be  made  to  imitate  steam." 

"That  the  best.?" 

"Well,  here's  one  a  little  more  expensive." 

"The  best,  is  it.?" 

"The  best  we've  got  in  stock" — she  looked 
doubtfully  at  the  unshaven  Httle  man — "is  sixteen 
dollars." 

"That's  what  I  want,  and  give  me  a  wheel- 
barrow, and  a  sled,  and  a  gas  balloon — a  blue 
one — a  pair  of  skates — a  little  boy's  size — four 
years  old  but  big  as  a  boy  of  six.  I  dunno  could 
he  learn  to  skate  at  his  age,  but  the  little  divil  he'll 
try.  And  a  football."  He  surveyed  the  shelves. 
"Have  ye  any  Httle  boats  ?  That .?  M-m — I  don't 
believe  much  in  a  sloop  rig,  myself,  but  maybe 
Dannie  '11  Hke  it,  and  that  one  won't  be  too  big  for 
a  bath  tub — if  he  don't  drive  her  too  hard.  I  had 
a  fine  little  boat  all  but  whittled  for  him,  comin' 
home,  but  it  got  so  wet — fine  soft  pine  it  was,  too — 

140 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

that  it  wouldn't  cut  anny  more — a  bit  wet,  d*  y' 
see?" 

"  In  a  ship  ?  I  see — the  water  splashed 
up?" 

"That's  it — and  wet  me  toes" — the  sly  smile 
of  Coleman! 

"Too  bad!"  To  herself  she  said,  "Such  a 
simple  man!"  and  to  Coleman,  "Here's  your 
change,  sir :  twenty-three  forty,  out  of  twenty-five 
— one  sixty." 

Coleman  pushed  it  back,  and  in  her  ear  whis- 
pered, "Buy  things,  dear — candy  animals,  ele- 
phants, camels,  giraffes — for  your  little  brothers 
to  home.  How'd  I  know  you  had  little  broth- 
ers ?  Sure  a  girl  with  your  face  has  always  little 
brothers" — and  he  was  out  the  door  with  his 
bundles. 

Coleman  bought  some  candy  himself — four  or 
five  bags  of  it — and  a  few  other  odds  and  ends  he 
hadn't  thought  of  in  the  toy  store.  Then  it  was 
a  straight  course,  for  home.  "Glory  be,  no 
shoals  to  bother!"  Two  tacks  and  he  was  there, 
standing  on  the  sidewalk  and  gazing  at  the  lighted 
windows.  He  could  not  see  within,  because 
of  the  drawn  blinds,  but  he  could  see  the 
shadows — slim  and  stout  shadows,  tall  and  little 
people's. 

"That's  Maggie,  and — oo-rah! — Httle  Dannie," 
141 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

and,  with  a  hand  to  the  bell — "but,  no,  the  back 
door  '11  be  open,  to-night;  Til  steal  in,"  and 
around  he  went  by  the  side  alley. 

He  crept  up  the  back  stairs,  across  the  porch, 
and  through  the  outer  door.  The  inner  door  was 
closed,  but  unbolted.  Through  that,  softly,  and 
across  the  kitchen  floor  yet  more  softly  came  the 
voice  that  had  mellowed  thirty  years  of  life  for 
him. 

"Maggie!"  whispered  Coleman. 

Another  spoke — a  child's  voice. 

"Dannie!"  and  he  halted  no  longer,  but  strode 
down  the  hall.  In  the  large  room  they  heard  the 
steps  and  the  jingling  of  the  train  of  cars.  "  Who's 
that?"  they  called. 

"Who's  that,  indeed?     Who  would  it  be?" 

"Arrah,  Colie!— Colie,  darlin'!" 

"  Maggie !— Maggie ! " 

"  Grand'pa ! — gran'pa ! " 

"Oo-rah,  Dannie! — O  my  little  Dannie!"  The 
unheeded  packages  clattered  to  the  floor. 

One  arm  went  to  his  wife's  neck  and  one  arm 
around  the  little  boy,  lifting  him  off  his  feet.  They 
bore  him  down  at  last  and  he  took  a  chair.  He 
looked  around.  "And  how  are  you  all?  What's 
it,  Maggie  ?  Was  it  rough,  did  ye  ask  ?  Divil  a 
rough! — smooth  as  butter,  the  whole  fortnight, 
and  the  finest  and  fairest  breeze,  comin'  home. 

142 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

Did  we  catch  lots  of  fish,  is  it,  Dannie  ?  Well, 
Fve  caught  bigger  trips  in  my  time,  Dannie — but 
we  caught  enough.  Jump  you  up  ?  'Deed,  and  I 
will 

How  many  miles  to  Dublin  town?' 
'Threescore  and  ten,  sir.' 
'  Will  I  get  there  by  candlelight? ' 
*  Yes,  and  back  again,  sir.' 

'''Jump,  jump,  jump  again, — 
Jump,  jump  again,  sir ! ' 

"And  I  must  look  at  the  Christmas  tree? 
'Deed,  and  I  will,  and  all  the  fine  presents  with  it." 

Down  on  the  floor  he  sat  and  examined  every- 
thing. He  helped  decorate  the  tree,  and  scorched 
his  fingers  and  hopped  around  and  said  'twas 
awful — the  danger  men  run  ashore,  what  with 
Christmas  trees  and  lighted  candles.  "  But  you're 
not  afraid,  Dannie — are  you,  boy  ?  'Deed,  you're 
not.  Put  out  your  chest,  now,  till  I  see  how  much 
you've  grown  since  I  left.  Oh,  the  big  boy  he's 
gettin'  to  be!" 

Two  hours  of  rapture  passed  before  Maggie  saw 
the  sure  signs.  "And  now,  lad,  to  bed,  your 
mother  says.  O  yes,  boy;  good  little  boys  goes  to 
bed  when  their  grandmother  says  so.  And  you're 
the  good  little  boy  now,  Dannie  ?  'Deed,  and  you 
are.  And  some  day  't  is  the  fine  big  man  you'll 
grow  to  be  if  you're  a  good  boy  now.     And  scared 

143 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

of  nobody  ?  No,  indeed.  And  fight  all  the  bad 
peoples  ?  Indeed,  and  you  will  that  same — and 
bate  the  heads  off  them,  Dannie,  boy.  And  now, 
lad — glory  be,  but  he's  asleep  already,  the  Httle 
man!" 

Coleman  bent  his  head  to  catch  the  light  breath- 
ing. He  never  listened  to  it  but  his  throat  tightened. 
"God  keep  you,  Dannie!" — and  he  touched  softly 
the  little  curls,  patted  the  little  hand  outside  the 
coverlet,  and  tiptoed  away.  Then,  drawing  his 
chair  beside  Maggie's,  he  took  out  his  pipe  and 
lit  it,  stretched  his  feet  toward  the  stove,  and 
smoked  blissfully.  So  they  sat  side  by  side,  and 
neither  of  them  spoke  for  a  long  time. 

It  was  Maggie  who  broke  the  silence,  at  last. 
"And  you  hurried  home,  Colie.?" 

"Oh,  I  jogged  her  a  bit." 

"  But  Dan  got  in  at  five  o'clock,  three  hours  be- 
fore you." 

"And  left  ten  hours  ahead,  and  didn't  have  to 
beat  up  the  channel." 

"No.?" 

"Yes.  That  foolish  man,  Peter  Kane,  had  to 
go  astray." 

"Small  wonder! — he  never  had  too  much  sense. 
Then  you  drove  her,  Colie  ? " 

Coleman  smiled  after  the  smoke  he  blew  to  the 
ceiHng.     "A  Httle,  dear." 

144 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

"For  me,  Colie — for  an  old  woman  like- 


"  Old,  is  it  ?  And  how  old,  now  ?  Fifty-two  ? 
Arrah,  no!  On  my  soul,  Maggie,  but  if  you 
didn't  say  it  yourself,  or  if  it  weren't  in  little  Dannie 
to  prove  it,  it  isn't  fifty-two,  nor  forty-two,  either, 
that  I'd  be  sayin'.  With  the  cheeks  of  you  that 
rosy  and  the  two  blue  eyes  of  you  and  the  soft  little 
bud-rose  of  a  mouth — why,  Maggie  Shea,  if  I  was 
a  stranger  lookin'  in  the  frosted  window,  now,  'tis 
thirty- two  I'd  say." 

When  Coleman  smiled  like  that,  the  light  of  the 
battling  sea  giving  way  to  the  mounting  tenderness, 
why,  no  mere  Adonis  had  ever  a  shadow  of  his 
charm — Maggie  fell  into  his  arms. 

"  But  the  temper  of  me,  Colie,  dear — 'tis  a  sore 
trial  to  me,  that  same  temper." 

"Temper,  Maggie  ^  Sure,  and  I'd  not  like  you 
half  so  well  without  that  same.  'T  is  just  the  sign 
of  the  fire  in  you,  dear.' " 

"  But  my  temper  hurried  you  off,  that  morning  ^ " 

"  Divil  a  hurry  of  me  for  anything  ever  you  said, 
you  foolish  woman ! " 

"And  if  Dan  hadn't  spoken  you,  would  you 
have  come  home  ? — would  you,  now  ? " 

"Come  home,  is  it  ?  Come  home  for  Christmas 
Eve  ?  For  that" — and  he  pointed  to  the  tree — 
"for  that,  and  the  little  child  in  his  little  bed — 
and" — as  his  hand  sought  hers — "for  you,  ma- 

145 


The  Joy  of  a  Christmas  Passage 

vourneen  ?  Why,  Maggie,  the  sun  will  never 
rise  on  the  day  when  I  wouldn't " 

"Wouldn't  what,  Colie?" 

"What!  Ah-h  Maggie,  but  if  I  had  the  words 
to  tell  you !  But,  Maggie  asthore,  if  you  want 
to  know  how  good  it  is  to  be  home  when  people 
— when  people  you  care  for — are  waitin'  for  you, 
then  you  need  to  be  worryin'  a  little  on  the  way, 
wonderin'  will  the  wind  hold  for  you  to  be  home 
in  time  or  no.  But  glory  be,  it  held  this  time, 
and  't  was  pure  j'y,  pure  j'y,  that  passage!" 


146 


THE  DRAWN  SHUTTERS 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

No  sooner  had  the  Midnight  let  go  her  anchor 
in  the  cove  than  a  door  opened  in  the  top- 
most little  house  on  the  rocks.  Carefully  an  old 
man  came  down  to  the  beach,  with  some  difficulty 
launched  his  boat,  and  presently  was  alongside. 

The  skipper  himself  took  the  old  man's  painter. 
"Come  aboard,  Mister  Kippen,"  he  said  heartily. 

"Thankee,  Captain,  but  not  this  mornin'."  He 
hesitated  perceptibly  ere  he  put  the  question. 
"No  word.  Captain.?"  There  was  more  of  in- 
quiry in  the  old  man's  eyes  than  in  what  came  from 
his  faltering  lips — worn  old  eyes,  in  which  was  a 
pitiable  plea  for  hope.  "  No  word  yet  o'  the  Pallas, 
Captain   Butler.?" 

"None  yet,  Mister  Kippen." 

"Wh-h-h "  the  sigh  shook  the  old  body. 

"Such  a  fine,  able  vessel  as  she  was,  too.  My 
boy  thought  he  was  made  when  he  got  her, 
Captain." 

"And  well  he  might.  Mister  Kippen." 

"And  the  proud  man  I  was  when  I  saw  him 
sail  out  o'  Carouge  Cove  that  day.  I  followed  him 
across  the  bay  to  old  Weebald,  you  mind,  in  my 

149 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

Httle  jack,  Captain,  though  'twas  a  risin'  gale  and 
I  had  to  lay  to  Lark  Harbor  for  two  days  after 
afore  it  moderated  so  I  could  put  back.  But  the 
grand  American  schooners,  they'll  make  easy 
work  of  this,  I  says,  and  warn't  I  proud  to  think 
of  him  sailin'  that  able  American  vessel!  The 
first  Bay  of  Islands  boy  that  ever  went  master  of  a 
Gloucesterm'n.  They'll  few  o'  'em  show  him 
the  course  to  Gloucester,  I  says.  Aye,  I  did. 
And — "  again  the  eyes  dulled — "and  no  word  o' 
him  since,  you  say.  Captain  ?  Sure  there's  no 
word?" 

"Well,  not  when  we  left  home.  Mister  Kippen, 
though  we  didn't  come  straight  from  Gloucester. 
We  stopped  at  St.  Pierre  on  the  way.  Maybe 
Murray,  who's  just  come  to  anchor  below,  has 
some  word.     He  left  home  two  days  after  we  did." 

"Did  he,  now?  Two  days?  Yes,  yes.  I'll 
drop  below  and  see  him.  Thankee,  Captain,  but 
not  this  mornin'.  Ay,  I  could  one  time,  and  dance 
a3  I  drinked,  but  my  bitters  be'n't  what  they  were 
to  me.  No,  my  bitters  don't  taste  right  now; 
but  thankee.  Captain,  for  all  that." 

The  old  man  reseated  himself  in  his  little  boat, 
resumed  his  oars,  and  was  off.  Captain  Butler 
watched  him  until  he  had  reached  the  side  of 
Murray's  vessel. 

"There,  he's  aboard.  He'll  ask  the  same 
150 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

question,  and  Murray'll  give  him  the  same  answer. 
Nobody  with  the  heart  to  tell  him  the  truth." 
"And  what  is  the  truth,  Captain?" 

"The  truth?  The  whoie  story?  Well,  you 
must  go  back  some  little  way  for  that — back  to 
six  weeks  yesterday,  when  three  of  us  were  on  this 
very  spot  ready  to  leave  for  Gloucester — Wesley 
Marrs  in  the  Lucy  Foster,  old  Kippen's  son  in  the 
Pallas,  and  myself  in  this  one.  We  were  all  of  one 
tonnage,  and  there  was  rivalry  between  us  to  see 
who'd  take  the  biggest  load  of  herring.  Each  of 
us  'd  took  on  two  thousand  barrels  salt  herring,  and 
I  know  I  thought  that  for  our  tonnage  we  all  had 
enough.  Well,  that  night  the  three  of  us  met  at  a 
dance,  and  after  the  dance  there  was  supper  and  a 
few  drinks  of  smuggled  stuff.  There  was  more 
or  less  talking  too,  you  know,  before  the  girls,  and 
somebody  remarked  how  deep  the  vessels  were 
loaded — too  deep  for  that  time  of  the  year.  We 
were,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  pretty  deep ;  but  Wesley 
said:  *Deep  hell!  the  Lucy  could  take  another 
two  hundred  and  fifty  barrels  and  not  know  she 
had  'em.' 

"Well,  you  know  there  are  people  in  the  world 
who  are  made  of  meanness  and  envy.  There  was 
a  fellow  there  who  was  quite  a  little  man  when  the 
American   skippers  weren't  around.     He'd   been 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

in  the  rear  row  for  some  time,  but  now  he  comes 
to  the  front  again.  He  looks  across  at  Wesley. 
*  That's  good  talk,  Captain.  Could — ^you  say  you 
could,  but  would  you  ^ ' 

"* Would.?  Yes,  and  will,'  fires  back  Wesley. 
'Have  you  two  hundred  and  fifty  barrels  handy?* 

"*I  will  have  'em  alongside  in  the  morning.' 

"'Then  in  the  afternoon  they'll  be  aboard,'  says 
Wesley. 

"'I'll  have  'em  there.  That's  certainly  some- 
thing like  3.  load  of  herring,'  goes  on  this  chap. 
*I  wonder  now  if  any  of  our  people  here  would — ' 
and  looks  over  to  young  Kippen. 

"'What's  that,'  asks  Kippen,  'about  carryin'  a 
load  of  herrin'  ^ ' 

"The  fellow  repeated  what  he'd  said,  and 
Kippen  flares  right  up.  Bring  him  another  two 
hundred  and  fifty  barrels  and  see  what  he'd  do 
with  them!  You  see,  he  had  double  reasons  for 
it.  There  was  the  girl  that  he  was  trying  to  work 
to  windward  of,  and  making  good  weather  of  it, 
too,  naturally — a  husky,  good-looking  young  skip- 
per— and  this  the  night  before  he  was  to  leave  on 
what  was  generally  reckoned  a  hard  trip  to  Glou- 
cester at  this  time  of  year.  And  then,  too,  he  was 
the  first  man  out  of  this  place  ever  went  master  of 
a  first-class  American  fisherman.  And  the  natives 
hereabout  were  that  proud  of  him !     *  H-m ! '  they'd 

152 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

say,  'and  so  they  has  to  come  here  to  wild  New- 
Tundland  for  skippers  as  well  as  men  ?'  and  could 
hardly  keep  from  shouting,  some  of  'em,  at  our 
fellows  as  they  went  by.  And  maybe  'twas  from 
knowing  something  of  that  spirit  that  Wesley  Marrs 
was  so  quick  to  make  his  boast. 

"Anyway,  whatever  Wesley  Marrs  says  drunk 
he'll  make  good  sober.  So  when  our  friend  was 
there  with  any  quantity  of  salt  herring  next  morn- 
ing, Wesley  took  his  two  hundred  and  fifty  barrels. 
And  you  may  be  sure  the  Lucy  did  set  something 
scandalous  in  the  water  when  she'd  got  'em  on 
deck — a  good  plank  deeper  than  any  vessel  leaving 
Bay  of  Islands  that  month. 

"  *  I  misdoubt  you'll  ever  get  her  home.  Captain 
Marrs,  if  you  meets  heavy  weather,'  was  the  cheer- 
ful word  of  one  native. 

"'No?'  says  Wesley.  *No?  Well,  we'll  see,' 
and  goes  around  with  an  auger  plugging  up  her 
regular  scuppers  and  boring  new  ones  under  the 
top  rail.  The  natives  couldn't  keep  their  admira- 
tion to  themselves  when  they  saw  that. 

"Simon  Kippen,  the  old  man's  son,  listened  to 
that  talk  for  a  while,  and  then  for  the  honor  of  the 
Bay  of  Islands — and  the  thought  of  the  girl,  too,  I 
guess — he  said  he'd  stand  by  what  he  said  the 
night  before.  *What  one  man  could  do  another 
man  could  do,'  and  also  went  around  plugging  up 

153 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

the  regular  scupoers  and  boring  holes  under  his 
top  rail. 

"Tried  to  stop  him,  did  Wesley.  *Now  you 
don't  need  to  do  that,  Sim,'  he  says,  *just  because 
you  had  a  glass  of  liquor  in  you  last  night.' 

"*Why  not,  as  well  as  you.?'  says  Sim,  stung 
you  see.  *Why  can't  a  Newf'undlander  do  what 
any  American-born  can  do  ? ' 

"'Why,  no  reason  at  all  why  he  can't,  gen'rally 
speaking,  if  he's  got  the  right  stuff  in  him,  which 
I  know  you  have;  but  I'll  tell  you  why,  and  no 
discredit  to  you,  Sim,  that  in  this  partic'lar  case 
you  can't.  It's  true  I'm  no  older  than  you  but 
I've  been  handling  big  fishermen  ten  times  as 
long.  I've  been  carrying  sail  since  I  was  a  boy 
'most.  I  know  what  a  vessel  c'n  do.  I  know 
what  no  man  learns  except  by  hard  experience,  and 
then  he's  lucky  if  he  lives  to  brag  about  it  after- 
ward. I  know  just  how  far  a  vessel  c'n  roll  down 
before  she  rolls  down  to  stay.  And  partic'larly  do 
I  know  what  the  Lucy  c'n  do.  You  don't  learn 
that  in  one  year,  or  two  years,  or  five  years  of 
driving.  And  you're  damn  lucky  if,  after  you've 
learned  it,  you  don't  get  lost  yourself — yourself 
and  your  vessel  and  all  hands — some  day,  ex- 
perimenting further.  And  more  than  that,  Sim,' 
says  Wesley.  ^I've  been  making  passages  from  here 
to  Gloucester   for  eight  or   ten  winters   now.     I 

154 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

know  every  foot  of  the  road,  and  no  credit  to  me, 
while  this  is  your  first  passage  as  master/ 

"* Maybe  so/  says  Simon  Kippen  to  that;  'but 
I've  been  hand  for  many  a  passage — as  many  as 
you,  for  that  matter.' 

"* Maybe  you  have,'  says  Wesley;  and  through 
it  all  he  was  good-tempered  as  could  be.  I  mind 
how  he  looked,  standing  with  one  foot  on  the 
quarter-rail  and  smiling,  though  we  all  knew  it 
might  be  no  smiling  matter  soon.  *  Maybe  you  have, 
Sim,'  says  he,  smiling  over  at  young  Kippen,  'but 
when  you're  master  and  the  whole  responsibility 
on  you  alone,  you  get  to  thinking  a  little  deeper. 
So  if  you  take  my  advice,  and  no  harm  meant, 
you  won't  take  aboard  that  deck-load  of  herring.' 

"'You  put  ashore  your  deck-load  and  I  won't 
take  mine  aboard,'  says  Sim. 

"*No,'  says  Wesley.  'I've  shipped  mine — it 
is  in  the  papers  now — and  what  I've  shipped  I'll 
take  home  or  wash  overboard — or,'  he  added  after 
a  Httle  pause,  *go  down  with.' 

"'Well,  maybe  I'll  go  down  with  mine,  too.' 

'"Maybe  you  will,  too,'  says  Wesley;  *but  what 
good  will  that  do.f^' 

"So  they  put  out.  I  warn't  quite  ready  to  sail 
— had  to  reeve  a  new  main-sheet — and  I  remember 
I  cast  off — we  were  all  three  tied  together — first 
Kippen's  line,  and  then  Wesley's. 

155 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

"*Good-by!'  calls  out  Sim  to  me. 

"*Fair  wind,'  I  answered. 

"*ril  see  you  in  Gloucester,'  was  Wesley's 
word — 'that's  if  all  goes  well,'  he  added.  Wesley 
was  always  like  that,  adding  little  last  words  after 
a  little  study.  He'd  lived  too  long  on  the  sea,  I 
s'pose,  to  make  the  mistake  of  ever  saying  he'd 
surely  do  this  or  cert'nly  do  that.  But  Sim  warn't 
that  way.  He  was  drunk  with  the  pride  of  sailing 
the  Pallas  out  of  the  Bay  of  Islands,  where  all  his 
old  chums  could  see  him,  and  his  father,  too — to 
say  nothing  of  the  girl  he  was  in  love  with.  To  the 
dock  she'd  come  to  see  him  off.  And  there  he 
kissed  her  and  hopped  aboard  the  Pallas.  *Good- 
by,  dad,'  he  hollered  back  to  the  old  man.  'I'll 
be  back  in  a  month,  and  maybe  be  in  Gloucester 
in  three  or  four  days;  certainly  in  a  week  with 
anything  like  a  fair  chance.  Maybe  somebody'll 
be  showing  you  a  Gloucester  paper  with  an  account 
of  the  trip  in  it  before  I  get  back.' 

"They  sailed  out,  and  I  followed  next  day. 
And,  of  course,  what  further  happened  to  them  I 
didn't  learn  till  afterward.  But  they  had  it  out 
from  the  beginning.  They  were  no  sooner  clear  of 
the  bay,  hardly  into  the  gulf,  with  Kippen  maybe 
a  mile  or  two  in  the  lead,  than  they  drove  into  a 
westerly  gale.  And  all  the  way  down  this  tough 
west  coast  to  Cabot's  Strait  they  had  it.     Both  of 

156 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

'em  had  on  more  sail  than  they  should,  more  than 
was  any  mortal  use  to  'em;  but  after  two  days  and 
two  nights  together,  sometimes  so  close  they  could 
hail  each  other,  they  warn't  either  of  'em  taking 
any  of  it  in.  Kippen  ought  to  have,  because — 
— I  meant  to  have  said  before — the  Pallas,  while 
as  fine  and  able-looking  a  vessel  as  almost  any 
man  would  want  to  see,  was  what's  called  a  crooked 
vessel.  Her  deck  wasn't  flat  enough,  and  she  was 
too  low  in  the  waist — the  kind  that  would  fill  up 
amidship  and  sometimes  not  get  rid  of  it  in  time, 
while  the  Lucys  flat  as  a  ball-room  floor.  That 
was  the  biggest  reason  why  we  didn't  want  to  see 
Sim  load  too  deep.  But  you  couldn't  tell  Kippen 
there  was  any  fault  with  the  Pallas — he'd  eat  you 
alive. 

"Well,  Kippen  held  on,  the  gulf  behind  them, 
till  they  butted  into  the  Atlantic  and  into  that  hard 
south-easter,  the  hardest  gale  in  maybe  two 
winters.  I  met  it  two  days  later,  and  though  I 
warn't  loaded  near  so  deep  as  Wesley  and  Kippen, 
I  was  glad  enough  to  put  into  Sydney  for  a  harbor. 
And  I  warn't  carrying  any  whole  mains'l,  either. 
So  you  can  imagine  what  weather  they  made  of  it. 
Loaded  deep  with  salt  herring  a  vessel  might's 
well  be  fastened  with  a  long  rod  to  the  bottom  of 
the  ocean.  There's  no  lift  or  heave  to  her.  The 
sea  breaking  over  her  gives  her  no  chance  at  all. 

157 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

Well,  the  bother  in  a  case  like  that — a  logey  cargo, 
a  big  sea,  a  gale  of  wind,  and  a  press  of  canvas — 
is  that  you're  most  sure  to  get  caught  sooner  or 
later  and  hove  dov^n ;  and  a  vessel  hove  down  with 
an  overload  of  salt  herring  is  in  a  bad  way.  Gen- 
'rally  she  don't  leave  you  long  in  doubt.  That's 
what  must  have  happened  to  the  Pallas  with  her 
crooked  deck.  Up  to  five  o'clock  that  particular 
afternoon,  after  twenty-four  hours  in  the  south- 
easter, those  on  the  Lucy  Foster  could  easily  make 
out  the  Pallas  astern.  She'd  hung  on  well  up  to 
that  time — Wesley  didn't  pass  her  till  they  were 
clear  of  the  Newf'undland  coast;  but  now  coming 
on  dark  this  day  the  Pallas  began  to  drop  back, 
and  soon  after,  when  she'd  put  up  her  lights,  they 
could  hardly  be  seen  from  the  Lucy.  Now  all 
this  time  they'd  been  having  desp'rate  times  aboard 
the  Lucy.  There  was  forty  times  they  thought  she 
was  going,  but  somehow  or  other,  just  like  her, 
she'd  come  up  just  in  time.  Then  the  deck-load 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  barrels  began  to  loosen 
up  under  the  battering.  Now  it  would  have  been 
a  great  blessing  all  around  if  the  deck-load  had 
gone — to  all  but  the  owners,  that  is,  and  even 
they'd  rather  lose  the  deck-load  than  the  vessel 
and  the  two  thousand  barrels  in  the  hold,  not  to 
speak  of  the  crew.  But  Wesley  wouldn't  let  'em 
go.     'No,'  he  says,  'I'll  get  'em  home.     Nobody'll 

158 


"The  deck-load  began  to  loosen  up." 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

have  it  to  say  in  Gloucester  we  got  scared  so  soon. 
I  know  Kippen.  He'll  try  and  hang  on  to  his 
deck-load  long's  he  can.'  And  with  lines  about 
them  Wesley  and  his  gang  went  into  the  swash  and 
put  extra  lashings  to  the  barrels  on  deck.  By  the 
time  they  got  that  job  done  'twas  good  and 
dark,  and  they  could  barely  see  the  staggering 
red  light  of  the  Pallas  astern.  After  that  they 
had  no  time  for  anybody  but  themselves.  The 
worst  of  it  was  on  them  then.  And  it  was  well 
Wesley  did  get  his  deck-load  double-griped.  But 
tough  as  it  was  on  the  Lucy  it  must  have  been 
tougher  still  on  the  vessel  that  was  lurching 
along  behind  them.  And  thinking  of  that,  after 
two  terrible  seas  had  all  but  finished  the  Lucy, 
Wesley  looked  back  for  the  lights  of  the  Pallas 
again. 

"Wesley  looked  long  to  where  he  had  seen  the 
red  light  before.  He  brushed  the  spray  from  his 
eyes  and  looked  again.  No  light  could  he  see. 
He  sent  men  into  the  rigging — he  was  lashed  to  the 
wheel  himself — and  they  looked  back  over  the 
water.  No  light  anywhere — nothing  but  what 
looked  like  a  patch  of  foam. 

"And  though  he  dreaded  it,  Wesley  hove  to  his 
vessel.  *  Suppose  she  isn't  gone,  and  suppose 
she's  not  hove  to  and  he  keeps  her  goin',  he'll 
cert'nly  have  the  laugh  on  Wesley  Marrs,  but  what 

159 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

of  that  ?  We  may  not  be  a  bit  of  use,  but  we'll 
wait  here  till  morning.' 

"Which  they  did.  But  no  Pallas,  not  even  a 
bit  of  wreckage.  Like  a  rock  she  must  have  gone 
down,  as  a  vessel  loaded  like  that  and  caught 
wrong  is  bound  to.  Anyway,  Wesley  was  satisfied 
she  was  gone,  and  next  day  went  on  his  way,  and 
after  another  ten  days  of  head  winds  battled  into 
Gloucester. 

"  Is  she  gone  ?  Of  course  we  all  know  she's 
gone.  Six  weeks  ago  that  was.  Her  list  was 
published  in  the  Gloucester  papers  just  before 
we  left,  but  nobody  here  will  tell  that  to  old  Kippen. 
He  still  thinks  she  was  blown  out  to  sea  or  maybe 
clear  back  into  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  where 
she  is  now  drifting  around  dismantled  and  unable 
to  help  herself,  but  still  afloat  and  the  boy  that  left 
here  six  weeks  back  still  walking  her  battered 
hulk." 

The  master  of  the  Midnight  glanced  down 
toward  Murray's  vessel.  From  there  his  eyes 
roved  toward  the  little  old  house  perched  high  up  on 
the  rocks,  and  back  then  to  Murray's  vessel,  where 
now  old  Kippen  could  be  seen  shoving  off  his  boat. 
The  old  man  made  but  feeble  progress,  and  the 
tide  set  him  over  toward  the  Midnight.  Clearly 
he  was  very  tired,  but  when  he  called  out  to  Captain 
Butler  there  was  a  more  hopeful  ring  to  his  words: 

1 60 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

"Captain  Murray  says  'tis  possible  the  Pallas  was 
drove  clear  back  through  the  gulf  to  the  Labrador 
coast,  drove  ashore  like,  and  they  might  be  there 
now,  he  says.  Hard  Hvin'  on  that  coast,  Captain, 
in  winter." 

"It  must  be." 

"Aye,  but  they  has  their  herrin*,  and  what  fresh 
fish  they  can  ketch.     Simon  will  make  out." 

"I  hope  so.  Mister  Kippen." 

The  old  man  rowed  on  to  the  beach,  where, 
after  drawing  his  boat  above  high-tide  mark,  he 
laboriously  made  the  ascent  of  the  rocks.  Now 
they  could  see  him,  and  again  he  would  disappear 
beyond  some  intervening  shack  in  the  winding 
path.  Neighbors  were  evidently  hailing  him  on 
the  way,  for  here  and  there  he  would  halt  and,  half 
turning,  nod  his  head,  say  a  few  words,  of  further 
hope  doubtless,  and  pass  along.  Twice  he  paused, 
apparently  for  breath. 

Arrived  at  his  house  he  did  not  at  once  enter, 
but  turned  and  gazed  out  over  the  bay.  He  stood 
so  until  the  door  opened  and  his  old  wife  appeared; 
and  together  they  stood  on  the  flat  rock  that  served 
for  a  doorstep  and  gazed  over  the  water.  It  gave 
one  a  shiver  to  see  their  old  gray  heads  bared  to 
the  cold  winter  air. 

Not  until  the  old  woman  clutched  him  by  the 
arm  did  he  turn  his  face  from  the  sea,  and  even 

i6i 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

then  he  returned  to  it,  sweeping  his  thin  arm 
toward  the  north-west  with  hopeful  emphasis. 
She  bent  her  head  to  his  ear  then,  and  evidently 
asked  a  disturbing  question,  for  he  dropped  his 
arm  and  shook  his  head,  whereat,  stepping  heavily, 
she  went  within  the  door.  The  old  man  lingered 
for  one  more  long  look  across  the  bay  and  out 
toward  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence.  Then  he,  too, 
went  within. 

The  master  of  the  Midnight  sighed  heavily. 
"Isn't  that  tough.?  The  old  woman  hasn't  his 
faith,  you  see.  But  he'll  go  on  hoping  and  praying, 
and  none  of  us  with  courage  to  tell  him.  Maybe 
'twould  've  been  better  to  tell  him." 

As  he  spoke  a  neighbor  was  seen  to  stop  at  the 
door  of  the  house  on  the  hill  and  knock.  The  old 
man  came  to  the  door.  The  neighbor  handed 
him  a  newspaper  and  was  about  to  make  off,  but 
the  old  man  called  after  him.  The  neighbor 
opened  up  the  paper,  pointed  hurriedly  to  some- 
thing in  it  and  rushed  away.  The  old  man  gazed 
after  him  and  then  at  the  paper,  before  he  closed 
the  door.  "  He  can't  read,"  commented  the  master 
of  the  Midnight,  "but  his  wife  can.  God!  she'll 
get  it  first  and  have  to  tell  him — what  we  might 
have  told  him  before!" 

In  perhaps  an  hour  the  door  of  the  little  shack 
reopened.     It  was  the  old  woman  who  came  out. 

162 


The  Drawn  Shutters 

With  some  effort,  for  the  wind  was  high,  she  closed 
all  the  shutters,  and  without  further  look  around, 
stepped  within  the  door  again. 

Presently  another  woman,  a  younger  woman 
this,  was  seen  to  climb  the  winding  path  and  stop 
at  the  door.  The  master  of  the  Midnight  un- 
consciously bent  over  the  rail.  "See  now — the 
poor  girl!" 

After  some  hesitation  the  young  woman  knocked. 
Again  she  knocked.  And  yet  once  more.  No 
answer  coming,  she  rapped  on  one  of  the  closed 
shutters,  and  still  receiving  no  response,  stood 
on  her  toes  in  an  effort  to  peek  through  the  diamond 
opening.  She  was  not  tall  enough  for  that,  and, 
stepping  back,  again  she  essayed  the  door.  She 
rattled  the  latch;   but  no  word. 

Throwing  back  her  head,  she  stared  anew  at 
the  blank  walls;  but  nothing  coming  of  that,  she 
made  a  despairing  gesture  with  her  hands,  re- 
settled her  shawl  about  her  shoulders,  and  came 
away.  Neighbors,  from  behind  jarred  doors, 
peered  out  on  her,  but  none  spoke  to  her;  and  so 
still  was  it  that  from  the  deck  of  the  Midnight  they 
could  hear  her  heels  clicking  as  she  hurried  down 
the  rocky  pathway. 


163 


THE  SMUGGLERS 


The  Smugglers 


UP  to  Oliver  Shepherd's  Sam  Leary  was  shining 
like  a  great  light.  He  looked  now  about  the 
room.  "All  good  friends  of  yours  here,  Oliver? 
Well,  here's  how  it  was.  Fd  been  havin'  a  hell  of 
a  good  time,  Oliver,  this  night  at  your  old  friend 
Antone's  in  Sain'  Peer.  Yes,  he's  still  runnin' 
the  CafFay  Lomprer — and  he'd  been  acting  Hke  a 
gen'leman  clear  up  to  the  last,  which  every  cafFay- 
keeper,  you  know,  don't  after  a  man's  money's 
gone.  And  goin'  away  owin'  for  a  few  rounds  of 
drinks  I  was  telling  Antone  how  I'd  settle  with 
him  when  I  got  to  Sain'  Peer  again,  when  *Tuh, 
tuh,'  says  he.  *Tuh,  tuh,  mong  amee — tuh,  tub, 
mong  amee  doo  coor,  my  ver'  dear  fren.'  What 
mattairs  two,  t'ree  dollairs  among  o'l  fren's?' 
And  we  had  another  drink,  and  Antone  goes  on, 
*Sam-mee,  I  have  long  time  in  min'  to  ask  you 
one  favor.'  *  Command  me,  my  bong  Antone,' 
says  I,  and  he  rolls  out  two  little  barrels  of  rum 
and  asks  me  would  I  take  them  over  to  Bay  of 
Islands  for  him,  and  of  course  I  said  I  would. 

167 


The  Smugglers 

"Well,  the  skipper  ketches  me  and  Gillls  as  we 
were  hoistin'  'em  aboard  the  vessel.  *  Didn't  I 
tell  you,  Sam,  I  wanted  no  contraband  stuff  on 
this  vessel  ? '  says  he. 

"*Sure  you  did,*Skipper,  but  they're  for  Oliver 
Shepherd,  Skipper,  over  to  Bay  of  Islands — a  good 
fellow.  Skipper.' 

"*Yes,  I  know,'  says  he;  *  but  will  Oliver  pay  the 
fine  if  we're  caught  tryin'  to  smuggle  the  stuff  in  ^ ' 

"*Oh,  you  leave  it  to  me,  Skipper,  and  there 
won't  be  any  fine  to  pay,'  I  says,  and  there  warn't, 
though  somebody  must  've  tipped  the  cutter  people 
off,  for  we'd  no  sooner  dropped  our  anchor  here 
than  she  sent  a  boat  to  overhaul  us.  And  she'd 
have  got  the  stuff,  too,  only  just  as  her  people  came 
over  one  rail  Gillis  and  me  dropped  over  the  other 
rail  in  the  dory,  and  in  the  dark  we  rowed  ashore, 
and  you  right  there  to  take  it  from  us,  Oliver. 
But  now  let's  have  a  little  touch  o'  that  same  rum," 
and  from  a  decorated  barber's  bottle  marked 
*  Hair-Oil,'  produced  from  the  pocket  of  his  ulster, 
he  proceeded  to  mix  hot  punches,  making  clear 
meanwhile  what  beauty  and  simplicity  were  in  the 
operation. 

"Aye,  Oliver,  a  child  could  mix  it.  A  little  of 
the  good  stuff,  so,  and  some  hot  water — not  too 
much,  though — so.  And  then  a  little  sugar — not 
too  much  either — and  a  touch  of  lemon  if  there's 

i68 


The  Smugglers 

one  handy,  and  if  not,  no  matter — a  taste  more  o' 
the  rum  instead — and  there  y'  are,  a  drink  that 
wouldn't  jar  one  o'  the  wise  virgins,  and  yet  a  drink 
a  man'd  row  a  dory  seven  mile  through  a  snow- 
storm to  get  a  sniff  of  any  day,  let  be  a  fine  big 
tumblerful  like  this.  That's  what,  Oliver.  And 
have  another  while  your  throat's  warm  and  the 
pores  are  open.  'Tis  most  soothin'  when  the 
delicate  membrane's  relaxed,  I've  heard  the 
doctors  say.  But  ain't  that  somebody  to  the  door  ? 
If  it  is,  in  God's  name,  let  him  in.  To  keep  a 
man  outside  in  the  cold  t'  night,  when  there's 
somethin'  to  thaw  him  out  inside,  it's  a  crime  again' 
humanity." 

Shepherd  admitted  a  stranger.  "Sammie,  this 
be  Mister  Stapkins,  of  Saint  Johns." 

"Glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Captain 
Leary." 

"Captain,  eh.?  A  promotion,  but  no  matter — 
men  that  tend  to  business  same's  I  do  ought  to 
get  promoted.  I'm  off  that  Gloucesterm'n  out  in 
the  stream." 

"The  Arbiter?  I  was  noticing  her  yesterday 
evening  coming  in — a  fine,  able  vessel.  And  came 
to  anchor  rather  smartly." 

"Why  shouldn't  she?  A  smart  crew.  And  if 
Gillis  was  here  now-^him  I'm  training  in  the  way 
he  should  go — and  that  other  peaceable,  delightful 

169 


The  Smugglers 

citizen,  his  new-found  chum,  OlHe  Fowler,  Mister 
Shepherd's  nephew  here — they  don't  either  of  'em 
care  any  more  for  a  drink  o'  rum  than  they  do  for 
a  man's  hfe,  and — now,  isn't  that  the  everlasting 
way  of  it  ?  Talk  of  angels,  you  know.  Here,  you 
image  of  Cupid,  you  two-winged  messenger  o'  love 
— ^you  gay  Don  Jon  o'  the  Bay  of  Islands." 

**  Who's  caUing  me  names,  hah  .f"'  Young 
Gillis  stood  in  the  door. 

"Who?  Why,  me!  You  tongue-twisted  cast- 
away— me ! " 

"Oh,  you,  Sam  Leary  .^  Well,  you  can,  but 
nobody  else.  You're  all  right,  Sammie.  I  thought 
maybe  it  was — "  He  picked  out  one  after  the 
other  of  the  pairs  of  eyes  around  the  room,  till  he 
met  those  of  the  stranger.  "And  who's  this? 
Who're  you  ?  What  name — Stapkins  ?  Of  Saint 
Johns  ?  And  buyin'  herrin',  of  course  ?  You 
must  be  new  in  the  business  for  certain — I  never 
heard  mention  o'  you  before.  But  let's  have  a 
drink.     Hah,  Sammie,  a  drink  on  me?" 

"No,  Gillie,  but  on  me.  I'm  buying  all  the 
drinks  to-night.  I've  got  some  stuff  here — look, 
the  good  old  rum  of  Sain'  Peer."  Leary  drew 
another  decorated  bottle  from  his  ulster,  and  held 
it  up  for  the  company's  inspection.  "There  was 
a  barber  in  Sain'  Peer.  *Shave-0!'  says  I. 
*Wee,  wee,  shave-oo,'  says  he,  and  I  drops  off 

170 


The  Smugglers 

for  a  nap  in  the  chair.  When  I  woke  up  I  had  a 
hair-cut,  and  he  wanted  to  charge  me  fifty  cents. 
So  coming  away  I  took  those  bottles." 

"You  have  an  easy  conscience,  Captain  Leary." 

"No  easier  than  the  barber's.  Mister  Stapkins. 
And  no  sin  to  recover  stolen  goods." 

"Stolen.?" 

"Sure  he  did.  Where'd  he  get  hold  o'  bottles 
with  United  States  words  on  'em,  if  he  didn't  steal 
'em  ?  From  off  some  steamer  put  in  there, 
most  likely.  H'm.  Hair-oil .?  But  there's  no 
hair-oil  in  'em  now.  I  fumigated  'em.  But 
the  stuff  in  'em  now  'd  grow  hair  on  a  college 
professor — yes,  even  if  'twas  professor  of — what's 
it  now  ? — cuts  up  the  bodies  of  little  creatures 
and  gets  at  the  souls  of  men  thereby  ?  By-ol-ogy, 
yes." 

"Huh,  here's  one,  too.  And  for  all  the  duty  it 
pa^!"  Gillis  also  produced  and  slammed  a  bottle 
on  the  table.  "The  red  rum  of  S'Peer,  too.  Have 
a  drink  everybody.  Mister  Stap — Stap — what's 
it .? — never  mind,  have  a  drink." 

"I  never  drink,  Mister  GiUis — doctor's  orders." 

"H-m — a  queer  reason  that.  If  we  all  did 
everything  the  doctor  tells  us,  it  would  be  queer 
livin',  wouldn't  it,  Sammie." 

"Aye,  'twould  be  like  head-winds  all  the  time, 
Gillie." 

171 


The  Smugglers 

"And  a  man  'd  find  it  slow  goin'  not  to  let  her 
run  before  it  once  in  a  while,  hah,  Sammie?" 

"He  cert'nly  would,  though  there's  fun  in  beat- 
ing to  wind'ard,  too.     But  where  you  off  for  ?" 

"Oh,  just  down  the  beach  aways,  me  and  OUie 
Fowler." 

"  H-m — goin'  girlin*,  hah  ^  The  poor  slobs  o' 
girls  that  gets  either  o'  you —     Well,  jog  along." 

Leary  gazed  after  his  departing  shipmate. 
"There's  cert'nly  been  a  lot  of  Hquor  turned  loose 
in  this  place  lately.  But  you're  not  goin'  too, 
Mister  Stapkins  ?" 

"Yes,  I've  got  to  write  some  letters  home." 

"Well,  that's  right.  I  s'pose  we  all  ought  to 
be  writing  letters  home,  too,  but  if  I  did  they'd  be 
some  surprised  in  Gloucester  when  they  got  any 
from  me.     Good-night  to  you,  sir." 

The  stranger  passed  out.  Leary  closed  the 
door  after  him.  ^ 

"Not  what  you'd  call  a  magnetic  creature  mat, 
is  he  ?  But  I  s'pose  he  has  his  uses.  A  peaceable 
sort,  anyway,  with  not  too  much  to  say,  and  I 
s'pose  that's  a  good  point  when  men  like  me  stand 
'round  ready  to  do  all  the  talking.  But  his  goin* 
needn't  bother  the  rest  of  us.  Here  y'  are,  OHver, 
another  little  touch  for  you.  And  for  you  that's 
got  to  keep  the  fiddle  busy — got  to  keep  you  well 
oiled.     That's  the  boy — never  in  all  your  life  did 

172 


The  Smugglers 

you  renege.  Slide  it  down — it'll  never  go  a 
dustier  road,  I'll  bet.  But  where's  the  dance  we 
were  goin'  to  have  ?  Where's  your  daughters, 
Oliver  ?  In  the  other  room  waitin'  ?  Man,  you 
don't  say  ?  Call  'em  in.  Ah,  there  you  are. 
Hello,  Bess.  Hello,  Sue.  Come  on,  now,  all 
hands  pair  ofF  while  he's  tuning  up  that  fiddle. 
Don't  be  shy,  you  Black-eye — I'm  talkin'  to  you. 
And  you  with  the  corn-hair,  you  know  you're 
dyin'  to  dance.  Pitch  in  all,  that's  the  way. 
Drive  her  now!  Drive  her,  boys — that's  it. 
Hang  tight  now,  Bess,  an  I'll  swing  you  so  you'll 
think  your  heels  '11  never  find  the  floor  again." 


II 


GiLLis  and  Fowler  were  walking  the  beach  this 
cold  night,  after  a  protracted  siege  of  courting  at 
Morton's,  a  notably  dry  household. 

"Whew,  but  it's  a  cold  night,  OlHe!" 

"Aye,  Gillie.  And  on  such  a  night  a  little 
somethin'  warmin' — "  and  flapped  his  hands 
across  his  chest,  and  fervently  wished  he  could 
get  hold  of  a  drink  somewhere. 

Curious  the  eflFect  of  mental  suggestion.  Both 
young  men,  sniflRng,  fancied  they  caught  in  the  air 
a  faint  whiflF  of  that  which  they  just  then  most 

^73 


The  Smugglers 

desired,  the  red  rum  of  old  Saint  Pierre,  and 
seemingly  without  any  further  wilful  thought  of 
their  own  found  their  feet  taking  them  toward  the 
ruin  of  an  old  barn  on  the  road  to  Oliver  Shepherd's 
house.  What  was  the  surprise  of  young  Fowler 
to  discover  on  examination  that  it  was  a  barn 
purchased  lately  by  his  uncle,  and  of  Gillis  that  it 
was  the  same  barn  wherein  Leary  and  himself  had 
hid  the  two  kegs  which  had  come  off  the  Arbiter, 
Oddly  enough,  too,  Oliver  Shepherd  had  been  on 
the  spot  to  direct  the  .storing  of  them.  A  fox,  that 
same  old  Oliver,  who  hugged  his  rum  altogether 
too  close,  considering  that  it  never  paid  duty  and 
cost  him  nothing  to  have  it  brought  from  Saint 
Pierre. 

GiUis  blew  down  his  fingers:  "A  pity  now  a 
man  don't  get  one  lonesome  drink  from  two  whole 
ten-gallon  kegs.     A  great  pity." 

But  he  would  look  further  into  the  matter,  which 
he  did,  with  Oliver's  aid,  and  found  the  door 
secured  by  the  heaviest  padlock  he  had  ever  seen 
on  a  door  in  all  his  life.  They  lit  a  match,  several 
matches,  to  make  sure. 

"There  was  no  such  monstrous  lock  as  that  last 
night,  OUie?" 

"As  if  we  couldn't  be  trusted.  Gillie!  Might's 
well  call  us  all  thieves  and  be  done  with  it." 

The  scent  of  the  liquor  was  patent  enough  now. 
174 


"There  was  no  such  monstrous  lock  as  that  last  night,  OlHe?" 


The  Smugglers 

It  must  still  be  there.  Well  they  knew  the  brand, 
the  good  old  rum  of  Saint  Pierre,  no  less.  And 
kegs  of  it  in  there,  perhaps,  and  they  dying  of  a 
thirst.  And  not  themselves  alone,  but  every  young 
fellow  in  the  bay.  It  must  have  been  the  thought 
of  the  multitude  of  longing  ones  which  violently 
aroused  their  sense  of  hospitality.  And  why  be 
selfish  with  it,  anyway  ?  If  the  old  man  was 
stingy  with  his  liquor,  no  reason  they  should. 
Gillis  put  the  question  to  Ollie,  and  OUie  offered 
generously  to  find  a  dozen  good  fellows  who  would 
be  only  too  delighted  to  help  them  out. 

It  was  from  there  on  that  the  man  known  as 
Stapkins  found  it  easy  enough  to  hold  the  trail  of 
young  Oliver,  who,  walking  not  overfast  and  sing- 
ing intermittently  as  he  went,  and  failing  not  to 
knock  up  acquaintances  to  help  them  in  his  expe- 
dition, soon  had  quite  a  company:  a  gay,  blithe 
young  company,  prepared  for  anything  in  the  line 
of  nocturnal  adventure. 

Oliver  led  them  back  to  where  Gillis  was  guard- 
ing the  treasure.  It  mattered  little  now  that  the 
door  was  securely  locked.  With  a  half-dozen  lads 
at  their  back,  a  stout  timber,  a  good  rush,  a  blow, 
and  again  a  blow,  how  could  the  door  resist  ? 
And  who  could  hear,  with  the  surf  booming  so 
loudly  ? 

Surely  nobody  could  hear .?     Surely  not  where 


The  Smugglers 

should  be  most  concern,  at  old  man  Shepherd's 
down  the  road,  where  blazed  the  late  lights,  and 
whence  came  roaring  indications  now  of  dancing 
and  feasting.  And  soon  the  band  came  swaying 
down  the  beach  again,  each  with  his  keg  to  a  sag- 
ging shoulder,  for  the  liquor  brought  by  the  Arbiter 
was  not  Oliver  Shepherd's  sole  store;  and  when 
the  burden  seemed  overheavy  they  halted  to  draw 
the  bung  and  swallow  a  strengthening  mouthful, 
and  to  remark  how  wonderfully  the  load  lightened 
after  each  draught. 

To  track  so  careless  a  crew  was  not  a  difficult 
matter  for  the  Government  agent;  nor  did  it 
require  any  strategic  genius  to  capture  one  keg 
abandoned  by  its  fatigued  bearer,  roll  it  to  the  edge 
of  the  beach  and  whistle  to  the  alert  cutter. 

And  so  was  inaugurated  Sam  Leary's  real 
trouble.  Not  till  next  morning  did  he  know  aught 
of  that  midnight  adventure.  He  and  GilHs  were 
dipping  herring  on  to  the  Arbiter  s  deck.  "O 
Lord,"  interjected  Leary,  "what  a  difference!  A 
pity  a  man  has  to  leave  it,  the  dancing  and  the 
squeezing,  the  grip  of  the  hand  on  your  arm !  A 
great  girl  that  Bess  Shepherd.  Why  didn't  you 
come  back  and  take  it  in.  Gillie .?" 

Whereupon  Gillis  related  the  adventure  of  the 
rum,  failing  not  to  include  all  those  details  that  his 
usually  tolerant  mate  might  enjoy  it  also.     But 

176 


The  Smugglers 

Leary  did  not  enjoy  it.  He  even  took  Gillis  to 
task. 

"And  you  that  glories  in  smuggling!"  exclaimed 
the  mortified  Gillis. 

"Man  alive!  Are  you  comparing  stealing  and 
smuggling.  Smuggling's  adventure.  You're  up 
against  a  powerful  Government.  The  Gover'ment 
half  expects  it  from  us.  You  see,  Gillie,  men  Hke 
us  to  sea  most  of  the  time  are  but  little  bother  to 
any  Gover'ment.  They  don't  have  to  run  ex- 
pensive fire  and  police  and " 

"I  dunno  'bout  the  police,  Sammie." 

"Let  me  go  on — police  and  banking  systems 
for  you  and  me.  And  no  great  harm  if  we  pay 
off  other  ways  to  sort  of  bring  up  our  average. 
Besides  smuggling's  a  recognized  institution.  And 
you  take  a  chance  smugglin'.  If  you're  caught 
you're  slapped  into  jail,  which  makes  legitimate 
adventure  of  it.  But  you  were  stealing — and  from 
a  friend — a  friend  of  mine,  anyway,  and  I'm  a 
friend  of  yours.  If  you'd  pounced  on  it  accidental- 
ly, not  knowin'  who  owned  it,  'twould  been  no  great 
harm — 'twould  been  so  temptin',  and  the  Lord 
himself  has  to  allow  for  natural  impulses.  But 
takin'  stuff  from  a  man's  barn  when  he's  not 
around  to  watch,  and  where  you'd  never  known 
it  was  if  he  hadn't  let  you  in  himself — why 
that's  not  right,  GiUis,  not  right,  and  no  luck  will 

177 


The  Smugglers 

come  of  it.  And — now  what  in  hell  does  that 
chap  want?** 

It  was  the  cutter's  boat  approaching,  and  in  the 
stern  the  commander  himself. 

"Captain  Leary.?"  queried  the  cutter's  com- 
mander. 

"What.?  Captain  again.?  But  all  right — yes, 
Fm  Captain  Leary." 

"You're  in  charge  of  this  vessel — agent  and 
so  on .? " 

"Acting  as  agent,  yes." 

"We  thought  so.     You're  wanted." 

"For  what?" 

"Smuggling." 

"Smuggling!  Quit  your  fooling — it's  too  cold  a 
mornin'." 

"FooHng!  FooHng!  With  whom  do  you  think 
you  are  dealing?  I'm  quite  sure  I'll  put  you 
through  now.  Some  of  you  American  fishermen 
act  at  times  as  if  you  thought  we  were  some  old 
water-boat.  You  in  particular  were  well  described. 
*  Jovial,'  our  agent  said.  After  we  get  through 
with  you  I'll  warrant  you  won't  be  so  jovial," 
and  the  revenue  cutter's  commander  permitted 
himself  to  smile.  "Come  on,  now.  You  can  take 
counsel,  if  you  wish,"  and  the  commander  smiled 
again. 

"I'll  be  my  own  counsel,  but  I  want  a  witness. 

178 


The  Smugglers 

Come  on,  Gillis,"  and  whispered  to  him,  "Stand 
by  and  put  in  a  word  at  the  right  time." 

The  appearance  of  Stapkins  in  the  cabin  of  the 
cutter,  to  which  they  were  taken,  somewhat  dis- 
composed GiUis,  but  not  Leary.  "Well,  Mr. 
Stapkins,  how's  herrin'  in  Saint  Johns  ?"  that  self- 
possessed  adventurer  inquired  slyly. 

Upholstered  chairs  are  comforts  which  fishermen 
always  appreciate.  With  heads  far  back  and 
legs  stretched  out  across  the  carpet,  the  pair 
took  note  of  things.  A  young  man  with  a  note- 
book and  typewriting  machine  caused  Gillis  to 
remark,  "Not  like  our  courts  in  America,  Sam, 
is  it?" 

Stapkins,  overhearing,  fixed  on  Gillis  a  threaten- 
ing eye.  "No,  not  Hke  an  American  court,  but 
it  will  serve  our  purpose.  And  now  you" — he 
nodded  at  Leary — "listen.  We've  got  all  the  evi- 
dence we  want,  and " 

Sam  sat  up.     "Evidence?     Of  what?" 

"Evidence  of  the  rum  you  smuggled  from  Saint 
Pierre.  You  can  stand  trial  here  or  you  can  come 
back  with  us  to  Saint  Johns  and  there  wait  in  jail 
till  your  appearance  in  the  high  court.  Which  will 
you  do?" 

"H-m — ^you  know  how  much  time  the  master 
or  mate  of  an  American  vessel  has  to  waste  on  a 
trip  to  Saint  Johns.     I'll  stand  trial  here,  although 

179 


The  Smugglers 

the  Lord  knows  I  haven't  the  most  far-away  notion 
of  what  it's  all  about." 

"Well,  you'll  know  soon.  Here  are  some 
facts,"  and  Stapkins  read  from  several  sheets  of 
paper. 

The  details  were  precise.  To  wit:  That  the 
Arbiter  left  Saint  Pierre  on  such  a  day  with  two 
ten-gallon  kegs  of  rum,  which  rum  was  not  found 
entered  on  her  manifest;  that  on  the  evening  of 
her  arrival,  at  5.30  post  meridian  to  be  exact,  of 
the  second  day  previous,  a  dory  bearing  the  name 
of  the  Arbiter y  of  Gloucester,  landed  on  the  beach 
abreast  of  the  vessel  aforesaid;  that  two  men  took 
from  the  dory  a  keg  or  kegs  of  liquor  of  some  kind 
and  carried  the  said  keg  or  kegs  up  on  the  beach 
and  hid  it  or  them  in  a  barn  said  to  be  owned  by 
Oliver  Shepherd.  And  further,  that  liquor  from 
one  of  the  kegs  was  drunk  at  Shepherd's  on  the 
night  following,  "all  of  which,"  concluded  Stap- 
kins, "we  have  witness  to  prove." 

Sam  grinned.  "That  there  was  some  liquor 
drunk  in  Oliver's  you  won't  have  to  go  far  to  get  a 
witness  to,  for  you  ought  to  know  one  at  least  who 
was  asked  to  have  a  drink  of  it" — he  bowed 
ironically  to  Stapkins — "but  how  you're  making 
out  it  came  from  any  particular  keg  beats  me.  I 
used  to  think  I  was  a  connesoor  in  the  rum  line, 
but  whether  rum  comes  from  this  keg  or  that,  if 

180 


f 


The  Smugglers 

it's  all  of  the  same  makin',  is  past  me.  But  where's 
your  proof  for  all  this  ? " 

"Time  enough  for  proof.  Perhaps  you  know 
that  if  this  thing  is  continued  too  far  the  vessel  is 
likely  to  be  captured.?" 

"Confiscate  a  fourteen-thousand  dollar  vessel 
for  a  few  dollars  duty,  even  if  your  charge  is  true ! 
No,  sir,  you're  not  going  to  get  away  with  that, 
though  'tis  so  much  a  custom  as  to  become  common 
law  almost  to  bleed  American  vessels  at  every 
chance  down  here." 

"I  might  warn  you  that  there  is  a  Gloucester 
vessel  serving  as  a  lightship  over  to  Miramachi  way 
even  now  for  smuggling." 

Above  all  else  Sam  feared  for  trouble  to  the 
skipper  or  vessel,  but  to  him  it  looked  yet  as  if 
they  were  still  shrewdly  guessing,  no  more.  So 
he  replied  calmly  enough:  "But  what's  a  con- 
fiscated vessel  to  do  with  me  .? " 

"  Mister  Stapkins."  Here,  to  Sam's  amazement, 
Gillis  jumped  to  his  feet. 


Ill 


Young  Gillis  possessed  not  Sam's  outlook  on 
life.  To  him  the  law,  at  close  quarters,  was  a 
terrible  thing;   and  here  it  seemed  to  him  that  it 

i8i 


The  Smugglers 

was  about  to  get  Sam,  the  vessel,  and  the  skipper 
in  its  clutches.  And  to  these  three  he  was  devoted ; 
to  the  master  by  respect,  to  the  vessel  by  instinct  of 
duty,  to  Sam  by  ties  of  wondrous  admiration.  Here 
was  his  chance.  Sam  had  told  him  to  stand  by. 
"Mister  Stapkins,  I  want  to  confess." 
"Confess?  You?  Confess  what!" 
"Let  me  speak.  It  is  true  that  there  was  a 
couple  of  ten-gallon  kegs  of  rum  put  aboard  the 
Arbiter  in  Saint  Peer.  I  know,  because  'twas  me 
brought  'em  aboard  and  hid  'em  in  the  hold. 
'Twas  me,  when  we  dropped  anchor  yesterday, 
that  stowed  them  in  the  dory  under  a  bit  of  canvas, 
so's  nobody  noticed;  and  then,  while  all  hands 
were  busy  with  the  collector  and  Captain  Curtin 
there,  'twas  me,  it  bein'  dark,  rowed  ashore, 
without  anybody  seein'  me,  and  hid  'em  in  Shep- 
herd's barn." 

The  magistrate,  who  heretofore  had  taken  no 
more  active  part  in  the  proceedings  than  to  listen 
calmly,  and  whom  the  fishermen  had  barely 
noticed,  now  leaned  forward,  and  again  settled 
back,  and  once  more  leaned  forward.  Steadying 
himself — he  had  evidently  come  for  the  purpose 
of  advising  also — he  remarked  to  Stapkins :  "  H-m 
— but  I  can't  see  how  this  alters  the  case.  The 
charge  remains  against  the  vessel."  He  addressed 
Gillis,  "You're  one  of  the  crew,  of  course  ?" 

182 


'  Twas  me  that  stowed  them  in  the  dory." 


The  Smugglers 

There  was  a  gleam  in  the  magistrate's  eye  which 
Leary's  intuition  interpreted  in  a  flash.  "Him 
one  of  the  crew,"  and  laughed  derisively.  Gillis 
stared  at  Leary,  who,  shaking  his  fist  at  him,  ex- 
ploded again,  "Don't  you  dare  to  tell  this  court 
you're  one  of  the  crew." 

The  court  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  "Not 
one  of  the  crew?     Is  this  true,  Captain  Leary?" 

Leary,  who  had  been  expecting  some  small 
action  from  Gillis  at  the  critical  moment,  but  no 
such  romantic  tale  as  this  of  the  keg,  was  beginning 
to  glow  with  the  possibilities.  He  sought  to  gain  a 
little  time  now.  He  affected  not  to  hear  the  ques- 
tion until  it  was  repeated  with  emphasis,  "  Is  this 
the  truth  or  a  lie,  sir  ? " 

To  Leary's  brain  came  a  glimmering  of  where 
it  might  lead  to,  but  no  need  to  hurry  yet.  "You 
don't  notice  me  calling  anyone  a  liar,  do  you  ?" 

"Not  a  member  of  your  crew?  Aha!"  The 
magistrate  rose  triumphant:  "Then  how  came 
he  aboard  your  vessel  ?  How  came  you  to  bring 
this  man  from  a  foreign  country,  which  the  United 
States  is,  to  this  country,  in  plain  violation  of  the 
law?" 

Unexpected  that,  but  Leary  felt  equal  to  it. 
Pausing  no  longer  than  was  needful  to  give  his 
most  serviceable  imagination  a  running  start,  with 
no  notion  at  the  moment  of  where  he  would  finish 

183 


The  Smugglers 

up  than  the  men  who  were  listening  to  him,  he 
began;  and  his  tone  was  most  judicial,  as  befitted 
the  surroundings.  "It  does  seem  to  be  against  the 
law,  and  yet  it  is  not.  There's  a  provision  of  law 
in  every  country,  I  suppose — in  every  civilized 
country,  I  mean — there  is  in  ours,  anyway — for 
bringing  home  the  sick  and  the — indigent,  is  it  ? — 
and  wrecked  seamen,  bringing  them  to  their  home 
port.  This  man,  gentlemen,  is  from  Gloucester. 
He  shipped  in  a  Gloucester  fisherman,  the  Mollie 
Butler,  Captain  Arthur  Morrow — look  her  up  in 
the  register,  if  you  want  to — for  a  fresh  halibutin' 
trip — and  was  taken  sick.  What  was  it  you  were 
sick  of.  Mister  Gillis?" 

"Consumption"  responded  Gillis,  and  coughed 
weakly  by  way  of  illustration. 

The  cough  did  not  seem  to  be  convincing. 
"Consumption!"  The  magistrate  glared  at  Gil- 
lis. Stapkins  and  Curtin  had  another  look  at  that 
husky-looking  youth.     "H-m!"  grunted  Curtin. 

"Yes,  sir,  they  made  me  sleep  in  a  tent  on  the 
rocks,"  affirmed  the  now  inspired  Gillis.  "I  was 
in  the  first  stages,  and  could  be  cured  that  way, 
they  said.  Outdoor  treatment,  the  latest.  But 
I  think  myself  they  put  me  up  on  the  rocks  because 
they  thought  I  was  an  Englishman." 

"How  could  they  think  that  ?" 

"It  may  be,  your  honor,"  Sam  bowed  gravely 
184. 


The  Smugglers 

to  the  magistrate,  "because  he  talked  United 
States,  which  is  a  good  deal  like  English. 

"Sure,  that  was  it."  Gillis  seized  on  that. 
"For  they  told  me  to  my  face  they  had  no  use  for 
the  English.  You  remember  me  telling  you  that, 
Mister  Leary  ? " 

"I  do,  Mister  GilHs.  Only  this  morning  you 
were  telling  me  again,  if  you  remember,  and  how 
they  sent  you  off  at  last  in  a  French  fisherman " 

"Sent  you  off.?     What  for?" 

"Why— why " 

"Such  foolish  questions!"  interposed  Sam 
hastily.  He  knew  that  his  shipmate's  inventive 
faculties  sometimes  failed.  "How  does  he  know 
what  those  high-handed  despots  shipped  him  off 
for  ?  And  what  does  it  matter  ^  The  real  thing  is 
he  was  run  off  and  the  vessel  was  wrecked,  and  the 
Arbiter  came  along  and  picked  up  Mister  GilHs." 

"  And  the  French  crew .?  Were  they  drowned  ? 
Sh-h — Captain  Leary — I'm  questioning  Mister 
Gillis  now." 

Gillis  was  gamely  trying  to  keep  up  with  the 
mental  pace  of  his  more  imaginative  mate. 
"Every  blessed  soul  of  'em,"  he  managed  to  get 
out. 

"H-m — but  that's  a  fine  tale  to  have  to  piece 
out,"  murmured  Leary.  "They'll  be  lookin'  her 
up  in  the  marine  tragedies." 

185 


The  Smugglers 

"Serves  'em  right."  It  was  the  magistrate  who 
thus  commented  as  he  leaned  back  and  glared  at 
whoever  might  disagree.  Stapkins  and  Curtin 
regarded  the  prisoners  with  less  complacency. 

"And" — Sam  was  now  carelessly  resuming  the 
tale,  his  eyes  on  the  portly  justice.  He  ran  on 
smoothly — "we  couldn't  do  less  than  take  him 
along  now,  could  we,  your  Honor .?  Though  if 
he  did  serve  the  vessel  this  mean  trick" —  he  glared 
at  GiUis;  but  softening  suddenly:  "But  did  you 
really  do  it.  Mister  Gillis  ?  Tell  the  truth  now, 
for  his  Honor  is  listening  to  you." 

The  brain  of  Gillis  was  in  a  whirl,  but  he  thought 
to  stare  contritely  at  the  floor,  and,  after  a  decent 
interval,  and  sniffingly,  "I  did." 

Sam  gazed  in  amaze;  as  might  any  honest 
man  on  a  most  despicable  creature.  "You  did? 
Gawd !  You  sit  there  and  not  ashamed  to  say  those 
words!  To  me,  your  rescuer,  and  in  a  way  your 
captain  now  ?  You  knew  what  might  come  of  it, 
didn't  you  ?  You  hear  what  his  Honor  says .? 
Why,  if  the  truth  weren't  forced  out  of  you  by  his 
eloquence,  by  his  legal — h-m— acumen,  my  vessel 
might  be  confiscated.  As  it  is,  I  suppose  I'll  have 
to  pay  a  few  dollars  fine  on  your  account.  O  Gillis, 
when  I  think  how  we  risked  the  vessel  and  the 
crew's  lives  that  day  picking  you  off  the  wreck!  A 
wild  day,  your  Honor — a  wild   day,  gentlemen — 

i86 


The  Smugglers 

mountain-e-ous  seas,  and  wind  to  peel  the  scales 
off  a  herrin*.  We  had  to  pour  oil  over  the  side  of* 
the  vessel  afore  the  skipper  would  allow  a  dory  to 
be  launched.  And  if  you  had  heard  the  cries  of 
him,  gentlemen,  this  man  who  has  just  confessed 
his  iniquity,  who  has  admitted  how  he  deceived 
us  and  rendered  the  vessel  liable — if  you'd  heard 
the  agonized  cries  of  him !  They  fair  bit  into  us, 
his  cries — we  couldn't  stand  it,  and  the  crew  knew 
'twas  almost  sure  death;  but,  the  brave  fellows, 
when  the  skipper  calls  out,  *  Who'll  volunteer  to 
save  him,  a  fellow-being  ?'  says  he.  *No  degener- 
ate Frenchman,  but  speaks  the  same  great  Anglo- 
Saxon  language  as  we  do  ourselves — who'll  volun- 
teer .f"  If  you  only  heard  Captain  Clancy  saying 
that,  your  Honor!  And  did  they  draw  back,  your 
Honor?  Or  even  hesitate?  Not  them.  *Me, 
Captain!'  'Me!'  *Me!' — and  they  leaps  up  and 
fights  for  the  privilege  of  goin'  in  that  dory.  And 
the  two  the  captain  picked  thanked  him  with  tears 
in  their  eyes.  *If  I  don't  come  back.  Captain,* 
says  the  first  brave  fellow,  *send  word  to  my 
parents  in  Birmingham  and  tell  them  how  I  died,' 
for  he  was  of  sturdy  English  stock,  your  Honor. 
'I've  no  wife,  but  my  savin's-bank  book  for  forty- 
two  dollars  and  forty-four  cents,  and  whatever 
interest's  due  on  it,  is  in  my  bunk.  Give  it  to  the 
widows  and  orphans,'  says  the  other,  and  over  they 

187 


The  Smugglers 

go.  But  they  warn't  drowned,  not  them,  the  brave 
fellows.  Their  guardian  angels  was  busy  that 
day,  though.  And  when  they  came  back,  after 
incredible  exertions,  they  had  him — had  this  man, 
gentlemen,  half-frozen,  faintin' — but  I  suppose  he 
don't  remember  it  now?"  Sam's  voice  reeked 
with  what  he  meant  for  the  very  essence  of  sar- 
casm. 

Gillis  had  been  gaping  in  wonder  at  Leary — 
indeed,  he  was  almost  in  tears  as  he  conjured  up  the 
picture  painted  by  his  gifted  shipmate,  himself  a 
craven.  For  a  moment  he  could  not  take  the  cue; 
but  an  offside  wink  from  Leary  pointed  the  way. 

"I  do  remember  it,  I  do  remember  it.  Forgive 
me,  I  do."  And,  holding  one  hand  to  his  face  and 
uttering,  "Forgive  me,  forgive  me,"  Gillis  sought 
to  clutch  Sam's  sleeve  with  the  other. 

Sam  spurned  the  groping  hand.  "Tub!  go 
away." 

"But,  Captain" — Gillis  held  a  handkerchief  to 
his  eyes — "  Captain  Leary,  for-give  me,  O  Captain !" 

"For-give  yuh!  How  can  you  expect  for-give- 
ness!  The  treachery  of  you,  a  man  we'd  saved 
from  a  watery  grave  and  taken  to  our  bosom — " 
and  Sam,  drawing  out  his  handkerchief,  passed  it 
lingeringly  over  his  eyes,  then  fell  desperately  to 
blowing  his  nose.  All  this  before  he  felt  strong  to 
continue:     "But   what's    the   good   of  harboring 

i88 


The  Smugglers 

wicked,  revengeful  feelings  ?  And,  your  Honor, 
what  did  the  smuggling  mean,  anyway  ?  A  little 
feeling  of  adventure  on  Mister  Gillis's  part.  I 
used  to  be  like  him  in  my  young  days,  thoughtless, 
reckless,  careless  of  the  owner's  interests.  Which 
of  us  isn't  careless  in  his — I  mean  of  us  ignorant 
fishermen,  your  Honor,  who  haven't  had  the 
educational  advantages  ?  And  yet  I  didn't  think 
he  would  do  such  a  thing.  Only  the  other  day" — 
he  faced  Gillis — "I  was  speaking  of  you  to  Captain 
Clancy — ^you  seemed  to  be  so  earnest  and  good, 
that  I  asked  him  if  he  couldn't  put  you  on  the 
ship's  papers  soon.  And  now  this  trick  you  come 
to  play!" 

"I  know,  but  I'll  never  do  it  again." 

"Never!" 

"Nevex,  never." 

"Well,  I  dunno  what  to  say.  When  I  come  to 
think  now  how  near  the  vessel  came  to  being 
pinched!  Your  Honor,  I  have  nothing  more  to 
say,"  and  Leary  sat  down. 

The  court  breathed  hard,  gazed  long  from  one 
prisoner  to  the  other;  and  finally  took  cousel  with 
Captain  Curtin  and  Stapkins. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  that 
fellow,"  whispered  the  magistrate  to  Stapkins. 
"An  ignorant  fisherman  like  him,  he  couldn't  have 
made  it  up  on  the  spur  of  the  moment." 

189 


The  Smugglers 

"I  wouldn't  be  too  sure  he's  so  ignorant.     But 

you  can  fine  them  on  their  own  testimony." 

"  But  this  isn't  real  testimony,  this  isn't  court." 
"What  odds  about  court?     We've  got  to  have 

a  conviction  recorded.     You  are  the  magistrate. 

You  can  convene  court,  and  we  are  the  witnesses 

to  what  they  confessed." 


IV 


The  final  decision  was  to  manage  it  in  some 
way  to  fine  both  Leary  and  Gillis,  but  it  was  also 
agreed  that  appearances  would  be  better  served 
if  a  regular  court  was  held.  So  ashore  they  all 
went;  and,  pressing  into  service  a  constable,  an 
aged  native  who  loved  the  trappings  of  the  judi- 
ciary, they  convened  court  in  the  informal  but 
sufficiently  effective  fashion  of  the  more  primitive 
regions  of  Newfoundland. 

Stapkins,  after  rereading  the  evidence,  turned 
to  the  solemn  gentlemen  on  the  platform:  "And 
now  the  Crown  prays  the  judgment  of  this  honor- 
able court  on  the  facts  aforesaid."  And  the 
honorable  court  accordingly  rendered  its  finding, 
going  over  the  facts  minutely,  repeating  for  the 
fourth  or  fifth  time  the  gist  of  the  whole  case. 
"And  the  prisoner  must  understand,"  and  the  way 

190 


The  Smugglers 

he  turned  down  his  spectacles  at  Gillis  was  so 
impressive  to  that  free-born  adventurer  that  he 
whispered  to  Leary,  "  If  ever  I  get  to  be  a  judge, 
ril  know  how  to  throw  my  lamps  on  a  man  that 
ought  to  be  hanged." 

"You  must  know,"  resumed  the  judge,  "that 
your  offence  is  most  heinous  and  makes  you  liable 
to  a  most  severe  penalty.  By  the  language  of  the 
law  you  are  not  alone  liable  to  be  sent  to  prison  for 
an  indefinite  term " 

"How  long  is  that,  Sammie  ?"  Gillis's  whisper 
could  have  been  heard  the  length  of  an  ocean  liner. 

The  judge  heard  it.  "Eh,  what?  Silence, 
silence!"  he  roared,  and  motioned  to  the  ancient 
retainer,  who  also  roared,  "Silence,  silence!"  and 
thumped  the  floor  with  the  fresh-cut  birch  sapling 
which  served  as  a  mace. 

The  judge  glared  at  Leary  also  ere  he  continued. 
"  Not  alone  to  prison,  but  your  vessel  is  also  likely  to 
be  confiscated.  Vessels  have  been  confiscated  to  the 
Crown  before  this.  You  are  aware  of  that,  doubtless. 
There  is  not  only  that  lightship  at  Miramichi " 

"A  fine  little  vessel,  Sammie,  too — I  know  her," 
whispered  Gillis. 

"The  prisoners  will  pay  attention.  The  con- 
fiscation of  a  vessel  is  no  light  matter.  What  have 
you  to  say.  Captain  Leary  .? " 

"Nothing." 

191 


The  Smugglers 

"Nothing  ?  Do  you  fully  realize  what  the  con- 
sequences may  be  ?  It  does  not  add  to  your  case 
that  you  have  not  testified  in  your  own  behalf." 

"What's  the  use!  YouVe  got  it  all  framed  up 
to  suit  yourselves.  Here's  a  man,  a  passenger  on 
the  vessel,  charged  with  smuggling  a  few  gallons 
of  rum,  and  you  talk  about  confiscating  a  vessel 
worth  fourteen  thousand  dollars.  And  you  haven't 
proved  your  case.  You  say  it's  now  regular  court. 
If  it  is,  then  bring  on  your  proof." 

Stapkins  jumped  to  his  feet.  "I  don't  see  as 
we  need  any  further  proof  What  more  evidence 
is  required  than  the  confession  of  your  partner  a 
while  ago  in  the  cabin  of  the  cutter  ?" 

"  But  does  that  commit  a  man  ?  Does  a  man 
talking  careless  like " 

"  Do  you  deny  he  said  it  ^  Or  deny  the  story 
of  the  rescue  .? " 

Sam  threw  up  his  hands.   "  What's  the  damage  ?" 

"That  is  for  the  court  to  say."  Stapkins  bowed 
deferentially  to  the  law. 

The  court  puffed  up  roundly.  "As  the  prisoners 
plead  guilty — ^you  do  plead  guilty  ? " 

"Yes,"  replied  Sam  wearily.  "We  plead  guilty 
to  a  couple  of  kegs  of  rum.  And  now  you  want 
to  do  the  usual  thing  to  American  vessels  down 
here — bleed  us  for  all  we'll  stand.  Well,  better 
soak  us  now  you  got  us." 

192 


The  Smugglers 

The  judge  frowned  on  Leary,  but  went  on,  after 
much  hemming  and  hawing,  to  dehver  himself  of 
various  original  phrases  which  were  preliminary  to 
a  long  dissertation.  "Albeit  the  law  says — and 
Anglo-Saxon — and  frat-ernal — and  mat-ernal " 

"And  pat-ernal,  don't  forget  the  old  man,  who- 
ever he  is." 

"Heh,  heh — and  mat-ernal  ties — one  speech  and 
one  blood,"  and  suddenly  abandoning  his  mean- 
dering phraseology,  fined  them  one  hundred  dol- 
lars apiece. 

Gillis  flared  up.  "A  hundred  .f*  No,  Sir — me 
for  jail." 

"Me,  too,"  Sam  turned  to  Stapkins.  "Til 
appeal  to  my  Government — show  you  fellows  up, 
anyway.     Better  cut  it  down." 

A  conference  ensued,  which  ended  by  the  judge 
saying,  after  casting  a  look  of  inquiry  at  Sam,  as  if 
doubtful  how  that  belligerent  man  would  take  it. 
"Well,  twenty-five  dollars  apiece." 

"Twenty-five?  Well,  all  right,  though  mind" 
— he  looked  defiance  at  Stapkins — "you  never 
proved  it." 

The  worthy  magistrate  eyed  almost  tearfully  the 
great  roll  which  Sam  drew  from  his  ulster  pocket. 
"If  I  had  known,"  he  whispered  to  Stapkins, 
"  that  he  had  so  much  money  with  him,  I  would  not 
have  taken  off  one  penny." 

193 


The  Smugglers 

From  the  roll  Leary  skinned  oflF  two  twenties. 
"Wages  due  me,"  he  explained  to  Gillis,  and  from 
an  inner  pocket  he  took  ten  dollars  in  small  bills. 
"All  I  won  at  poker  from  the  natives  since  we  hit 
into  the  bay,"  and  sighed  as  he  passed  it  over. 
Then,  turning  to  the  magistrate,  "We  can  go  now, 
I  suppose?" 

"You  are  free." 

"Then,  good-day,"  and,  pausing  at  the  door, 
"To  hell  with  you  all."  And,  placing  his  arm 
through  Gillis's:  "Lord,  after  that  one-tongue, 
one-blood  speech,  I  thought  he  was  going  to  let  us 
off;  but  I  guess  he  needed  the  money.  He's  like 
a  lot  of  others  that  love  us  till  their  interests  take 
'em  another  way."  Then,  noticing  that  they  were 
passing  a  window  of  the  court-room,  he  raised  it, 
looked  inside,  and,  catching  Captain  Curtin's  eye, 
to  him  he  tipped  a  most  illuminating  wink,  at 
which  Curtin  looked  at  Stapkins  and  Stapkins 
looked  at  Curtin,  and  a  great  light  broke  in  on 
them  both;  and  together  they  looked  at  the  judge. 
But  that  honorable  was  recounting  the  money, 
whereat  Stapkins  and  Curtin  shook  their  heads  and 
smiled,  but  with  mouths  somewhat  awry. 

The  late  prisoners  resumed  their  road  to  the 
vessel.  Sam  wore  a  most  pensive  look.  Finally 
he  spoke  up. 

"Gillis,  this  ought  to  teach  you  not  to  be  going 
194 


The  Smugglers 

and  getting  drunk  with  other  people's  rum.  Pay- 
ing that  fine  raised  the  devil  with  my  pile.  I  had 
in  mind  to  buy  Bess  a  little  present.  A  fine  girl, 
that  Bess  Shepherd.  You  haven't  got  a  spare  ten 
or  twenty,  have  you  ? " 

"  Me  a  ten  or  twenty  ^  I  got  a  five,  though. 
But  I  had  it  in  mind  to  buy  a  little  present  for 
somebody,  too." 

"You  buy  presents!  Don't  you  think  you  ought 
to  rest  on  your  laurels  for  a  little  while  ?  Let  me 
have  that  five-spot,  and  FU  borrow  five  more  from 
the  skipper's  money.  There's  a  pearl  necklace 
at  the  jewellery  store  up  in  Birchy  Cove,  and  the 
man  said  he'd  let  me  have  it  for  nine  seventy-five. 
All  the  girls  in  the  bay  have  been  eyein'  it,  but 
it'll  look  best  on  Bess,  O  Lord,  the  things  I  could 
've  done  with  that  fifty!"  Then,  oighing  thought- 
fully: "Blessed  if  I  don't  believe,  GiiHs,  it  does 
pay  to  be  honest.  You  see,  Gillis,  honesty's  the 
one  game  that  everybody ''s  playin',  good  people  all 
the  time,  but  bad  people  sometimes,  for  their  own 
interest,  if  nothing  else.  Buckin'  against  honesty's 
like  tryin'  to  sail  into  the  eye  of  the  wind,  and  you 
can't  do  it — ^you  have  to  beat." 

"'Less  you  got  steam-power,  Sammie." 

"Then  you're  not  sailin'.  You're  Hke  a  man 
then  with  an  inside  pull.  And  if  your  steam 
gives  out  you're  worse  off  than  if  you'd  started 

195 


The  Smugglers 

out  with  only  sail  in  the  first  place.  Yes,  sir, 
I'm  beginnin'  to  believe  it's  best  to  be  honest  in 
everything.  Do  you  know,  Gillis" — Leary  be- 
came very  confidential — "but  sometimes  I  doubt 
that  even  smugglings  quite  the  right  thing." 

"And  I've  often  had  my  doubts,  too,  Sammie." 
And   thus   these   two   reflective   gentlemen,  re- 
clothing    ancient    philosophies,    climbed    soberly 
down   the  rocky  hillsides. 


196 


BETWEEN  SHIPMATES 


Between  Shipmates 

*'T?RENCHIE"  and  his  old-time  chum  had  not 
X  spoken  to  each  other  since  the  vessel  put 
out,  and  it  was  very  awkward  altogether.  Here 
were  two  men  who  had  to  sit  at  the  same  table,  to 
share  the  same  bunk,  and  to  overhaul  trawls  to- 
gether in  cramped  quarters  below,  each  trying, 
by  every  evasion  of  look,  word,  and  deed^  not  to 
let  on  that  he  ever  knew  that  the  other  even 
existed. 

But  there  was  no  way  out  of  standing  watch,  nor 
of  taking  the  wheel  the  one  from  the  other  and 
passing  the  skipper's  word — "By  the  wind," 
"east,  half  south,  and  nothing  to*' — or  whatever 
else  it  might  be.  That  was  the  hard  thing — they 
could  not  conceal  it  from  the  crew — the  having 
to  speak  to  each  other. 

"And  what's  it  all  about?"  queried  the  crew, 
and  they  would  have  liked  to  smooth  matters  out 
but  knew  better  than  to  attempt  it  in  the  usual 
way,  for  neither  was  of  the  kind  of  men  that  open 
their  hearts  to  casual  inquiry,  however  well-in- 
tentioned. So,  though  the  mystery  had  not  been 
solved,  it  was  a  great  relief  to  nearly  all  hands 

199 


Between  Shipmates 

when,  the  vessel  having  arrived  on  the  grounds, 
the  two  men  put  off  to  set  trawls. 

"To  nearly  all."  There  were  yet  those  who 
worried.  "For,  if  a  hundred-ton  vessel  is  cert'nly 
narrow  for  two  that's  fallen  out,  what  of  a  sixteen- 
foot  dory?"  mused  these.  "What  of  a  sixteen- 
foot  dory,  where  they  can't  be  passing  for'ard  or 
aft  without  forever  falling  foul  of  each  other  ? " 
and  in  the  most  incidental  sort  of  way  in  the  world 
they  glanced  over  their  shoulders — casting  about 
for  weather  signs  by  the  way — to  see  what  the  pair 
would  do  in  the  more  restricted  quarters. 

But  nothing  happened — leastwise  not  in  the 
sight  of  the  crew.  They  only  saw  that  it  was 
Arnold,  handiest  to  the  baited  tub  of  trawls,  who 
cast  over  buoy  and  anchor;  and  Frenchie,  the  man 
of  noted  endurance  even  among  a  fleet  of  trawlers, 
who  yanked  the  thole  pins  into  their  sockets  and 
rowed  superbly  to  the  westward. 

Ordinarily  those  two  expert  fishermen  would 
not  have  gone  astray  that  day.  In  their  instinc- 
tive fashion  both  noticed  the  sure  signs  of  the  fog 
line  before  it  shut  out  the  vessel;  but  the  wires 
were  still  down — neither  was  going  to  let  on  by  so 
much  as  the  least  anxious  exclamation  that  he  felt 
the  slightest  concern.  Even  when  the  fog  had 
enveloped  them,  and  by  concerted  action  there  was 
yet  time  to  haul  their  trawls  and  make  the  vessel 

200 


Between  Shipmates 

before  it  was  too  late,  neither  betokened,  by  the 
faintest  sign,  his  sense  of  impending  peril. 

So,  the  tide  carrying  them  gradually  beyond 
the  sound  of  the  horn,  they  let  her  drift.  Each 
was  cheerfully  prepared  to  be  lost  and  to  die  of 
hunger,  thirst,  exhaustion,  or  of  all  three  com- 
bined, before  he  would  speak  the  first  word;  and 
even  later,  when  they  could  no  longer  doubt,  with 
fog  as  impenetrable  as  a  wall  about  and  dark 
night  upon  them,  with  death,  most  likely,  close  at 
hand — even  then  they  were  prepared  to  continue 
the  prideful  silence. 

During  all  that  night  their  dory  drifted,  and 
neither  man  made  move  until  dawn.  Then  did 
Arnold,  who  seemed  to  be  waiting  only  for  the 
light,  pick  up  the  low-marked  water  bottle  and, 
carefully  estimating  with  his  eye,  mark  the  half- 
measure  of  what  remained  with  his  finger-nail. 
Long  he  held  the  bottle  aloft,  ostentatiously  ele- 
vated it,  gagging  with  thirst  though  he  was,  and 
even  clinked  his  cold  knuckles  against  the  glass; 
but,  Frenchie  never  turning  to  note  the  fair  judg- 
ment, Arnold  drank  his  religious  half  wrathfully 
and  corked  and  set  the  bottle  down  with  a  rattle; 
whereat  Frenchie  turned  leisurely,  and,  palpably 
without  a  look,  drank  what  was  left  and  tossed 
far  away  the  empty  bottle. 

The  splash  of  the  bottle  in  the  sea  was  like  a 

201 


Between  Shipmates 

signal  to  action.  Arnold,  taking  the  stern  thwart 
and  making  a  place  for  his  feet  among  the  fish, 
set  his  oars  between  the  thole  pins,  and,  auricularly 
assured  that  his  mate  was  in  position,  began,  by 
pulling  on  his  left  and  backing  on  his  right  oar, 
to  work  the  bow  of  the  dory  around.  Instinctively 
Frenchie  opened  his  mouth  to  protest,  but,  before 
the  word  could  issue  from  his  lips,  bit  it  off  sav- 
agely. No,  he  was  not  going  to  speak  first;  no, 
not  even  though  speech  might  mean  life  to  them. 

Arnold's  ear  caught  the  gurgle  behind,  and, 
hoping  that  his  mate  was  about  to  say  some- 
thing, paused  gladly  to  hear  it.  Indeed,  to  his 
mind,  the  matter  had  gone  far  enough;  but  no 
word  came  to  him,  and  sullenly  he  forced  the  oars 
through  the  water.  His  own  ideas  of  the  where- 
abouts of  the  vessel  were  vague,  while  his  dory- 
mate,  as  all  men  knew,  had  a  famous  sense  of  lo- 
cation; and  yet,  if  he  didn't  care  enough  about  it 
to  say  a  word,  when  he  saw  the  dory  being  headed 
in  the  wrong  direction,  then  he  wasn't  caring 
either.  So  away  from  the  vessel,  Frenchie  by  his 
silence  concurring,  they  rowed  the  dory. 

Rowing  and  resting — each  consulting  his  own 
will  as  to  that,  but  each  doing  manfully  what  he 
considered  his  share — they  rowed  on,  night  and 
day,  and  night  and  day  again,  with  nothing  to  eat 
or  drink,  until  the  weary  pain  of  it  was  beyond  all 

202 


Between  Shipmates 

mortal  strength — certainly  for  Arnold,  who  well 
knew  he  never  could  last  with  the  iron  man  be- 
hind him.  Arnold  by  then  had  lost  all  count  of 
time — whether  three,  four,  or  five  days  had 
elapsed  he  could  not  say — but  he  was  struggling 
desperately  to  hold  out,  determined  not  to  admit 
himself  beaten;  and  yet  he  had  about  made  up  his 
mind  at  last  to  quit — to  say,  "  Frenchie,  Vm  done," 

nothing  else,  when 

Frenchie,  his  eyes  half  closed,  saw  Arnold's 
back  lunge  forward,  and,  an  instant  later,  the 
oars  slide  through  the  thole  pins  and  the  body  fall 
off  the  seat  and  into  the  bottom  of  the  dory.  But 
he  did  not  slack  his  stroke  at  once;  only  slowly 
did  it  dawn  on  him  that  Arnold  really  was  uncon- 
scious. His  first  thought  was  one  of  exultation — 
and  so  he  had  worn  him  down  .?  But,  with  an- 
other glance  at  the  inert  figure,  tenderness  and 
pity  flashed  from  him.  "No!"  he  cried,  and 
bent  over  the  limp  body.  "  But  so  it  ees."  Even 
then  he  did  not  address  a  direct  remark  to  the 
sagging  body,  but  only  picked  him  up  and  laid 
him  in  the  stern.  Long  ago  they  had  cast  away 
the  load  of  fish,  and  a  light  dory  rides  better  for 
a  weight  in  the  stern.  So  Frenchie  made  a  pre- 
tense of  arguing,  ashamed  to  admit  even  to  him- 
self that  he  had  put  his  mate  in  the  stern  solely 
because  it  was  the  least  uncomfortable  place  in 

203 


Between  Shipmates 

the  little  boat.  "And  good  summer  weather," 
murmured  Frenchie — "  and  so  he  shall  not  freeze." 

Two  more  days  and  a  night  of  lonely  labor  and 
Frenchie  made  out  a  red  light  bearing  down. 
Perhaps  a  point  off  his  own  course  it  was,  but 
still  a  good  distance  away,  and  there  might  be 
time  to  place  the  dory  directly  in  her  course. 
He  had  hailed  a  sail  only  the  night  before  and  got 
no  answer.  No  more  hailing  at  a  distance  for 
him!  "A  good  t'ing  her  wasn't  her  starb'd 
light,"  said  Frenchie,  "or  I  wouldn't  seen  her  so 
soon,"  and  he  tugged  hard  at  the  oars.  "And 
now  they  must  pick  me  up  or  run  me  down — 
and  I  not  certain  I  care  so  much  if  she  run  me 
down,  for  I  been  damn  tired." 

But  to  be  weary  was  not  to  be  vanquished. 
No,  nor  near  it.  Long  days  and  nights  of  hunger, 
thirst,  and  travail  on  the  lonely  sea  had  not 
quenched  his  spirit.  They  used  to  say  of  Frenchie, 
on  the  vessel,  that,  if  ever  he  should  come  to  die, 
he'd  certainly  die  hard.  So  "Aboard  the  bark!" 
he  hailed  now — "h — i — i — the  bark!"  There 
was  nothing  of  deception  in  that  barrel  chest  and 
bull  neck.  'Twas  the  rumble  of  an  organ.  "A — 
hoy — hi — hi — i — the  bark!"  he  hailed  again,  and 
to  such  effect  this  time  that  not  only  was  the 
slumbrous  watch  awakened,  but  the  mate,  having 
a  mug  of  coffee  for  himself  in  the  cabin,  came 

204 


Between  Shipmates 

bundling  up  on  deck  before  the  watch  could  call 
him. 

The  mate  peered  over  the  side.  Coming  sud- 
denly from  light  to  dark,  he  could  as  yet  see  noth- 
ing clearly.     "Who  is  it.?"  he  bellowed. 

"Me!"  answered  Frenchie,  from  his  dory. 

1  iie  mate  again  peered  over  the  rail,  leaning 
now  far  out  and  down.  He  at  last  made  out  the 
shadow  of  the  little  boat  below.  "And  who're 
you,  and  what  do  you  want?" 

"Fm  Gloucester — American  feesher-man — 
strayed  from  my  ves — sel  in  fog.  And  thees  my 
dory-mate — 'most  dead — maybe  dead.  Lower 
your  falls,  plees,  and  hoist  heem  aboard." 

The  resolute  tone  of  Frenchie  influenced  the 
mate  to  quicker  action  than  he  had  intended. 
The  tackle  was  unhooked  and  dropped  over. 
Frenchie  made  the  line  fast  about  his  dory-mate, 
and  anxiously  observed  it  as  the  falls  creaked 
above;  and  "Tak'  a  care — tak'  a  care — he  'most 
dead!"  he  warned  in  a  plaintive  voice,  as  he  saw 
that  the  body  was  allowed  to  knock  once  or  twice 
against  the  side  of  the  bark. 

"Take  care.?  Who's  doing  this.?"  demanded 
the  mate,  and  therewith,  having  Arnold's  body 
on  board,  he  allowed  it  to  drop  roughly  to  the 
deck;  and  "Come  on,  you,  and  hurry,"  he  added 
as  he  lowered  the  falls  again. 

205 


Between  Shipmates 

"Yes,  yes,  but  not  so  fast.  Now,  then,  a'right 
— hoist  away." 

The  man  above  tugged  at  the  leads.  The 
mate,  noting  what  slow  progress  they  were  mak- 
ing, peered  over  the  side.  He  soon  understood 
what  was  wrong.  "The  blasted  derelict!  he's 
made  fast  his  boat,  too!"  Man  and  dory  were  be- 
ing hoisted  together.  "What  in  the  devil's  name 
does  he  think? — we're  stevedores.?"  and  he  let 
slip  the  after  falls. 

Down  splashed  the  stern  of  the  dory  and  into 
it  rushed  the  sea.  It  was  up  to  Frenchie's  knees 
in  a  moment,  and,  the  men  continuing  to  hoist, 
the  bow  of  the  dory  was  rearing  up.  Frenchie, 
barely  grasping  the  bow  falls  in  time,  began  to 
cHmb,  hand  over  hand  to  the  rope  and  feet  to  the 
side  of  the  bark.  A  moment  later  he  was  on  the 
deck,  but  such  work! 

"Cast  off!"  ordered  the  mate.  "And  you — 
get  below,  you!"  he  barked  at  Frenchie,  who  was 
gazing  over  the  side  at  his  dory,  now  filled  and 
drifting  away,  and  almost  sobbing  as  he  gazed. 

"You  should  not  done  that.  Not  right — not 
right — a  beau — ti — ful  do — ree,  and  four  tubs 
fine  trawl!"     He  repeated  the  words  sadly. 

"Blast  you  and  your  trawls — go  below!" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  go  below."  Frenchie  leaned 
against  the  rail  for  a  moment.     "You  skipper.?" 

206 


Between  Shipmates 

"No,  rm  not  skipper.  He's  below  and  asleep 
— and  knows  better  than  to  wake  easy  or  inter- 
fere   when    it's    my    watch.     But   go    below,    or 

rii " 

Frenchie  raised  a  deprecating  hand.  "Oh, 
oh — no  need,  sair" — and  he  stooped  to  lift  his 
dory-mate.  Arnold  moaned  as  Frenchy  raised  him 
from  the  deck,  and  "Gra-a — "  gurgled  Frenchie, 
and  he  turned  to  carry  him  below;  and,  as  on  the 
vessel  he  and  Arnold  bunked  in  the  cabin,  so  now 
he  headed  for  the  after  deck  of  the  bark. 

"Come  out  of  that — for'ard  with  you!"  splut- 
tered the  mate.  But  Frenchie,  by  that  time, 
was  carefully  descending  the  cabin  steps  with 
never  a  notion  of  turning  back. 

He  laid  Arnold  on  the  nearest  locker.  Arnold 
groaned;  Frenchie  patted  the  haggard  cheeks. 
"Steady,  boy — steady!  Soon  you  be  all  fixed 
up."  For  the  first  time  since  they  had  put  out 
from  Gloucester  he  touched  Arnold  with  unre- 
strained tenderness,  and  the  act  gave  him  joy. 
"Hush,  boy,  hush! — ^you  soon  have  the  good 
hot  coffee." 

"Say  it  again — the  good  hot  what.?" 

Frenchie  looked  up.  The  mate  was  at  his 
shoulder,  his  eyes  gleaming  satirically.  "The  good 
hot  what,  did  you  say  ?" 

"Coffee,"  repeated  Frenchie.  "He  'most  dead. 
207 


Between  Shipmates 

One,  two,  three" — he  counted  on  his  fingers — 
"Seex,  may  be  se'en  days,  seven  nights,  astray  in 
hees  do-ree.  You  been  astray  ever — not'ing  to  eat, 
nothing  to  drink  ?     He  'most  dead,  I  say." 

"And  s'pose  he  was  dead  altogether — who's  in 
command  here  ?  You  damn  Gloucesterm'n,  it's 
just  Hke  one  of  you  to  think  you  c'n  jump  aboard 
here  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  step  into  the 
officer's  cabin  and  give  orders.  But  not  here, 
you  don't.  Maybe  you  can  do  that  under  your 
fast-and-loose  American-manned,  but  not  on  no 
British  bottom.  Here" — he  shd  back  a  door  in 
the  bulk-head  partition — "  here's  where  you  chaps 

go." 

Frenchie  peered  in.  What  he  saw  was  the 
hold  of  the  bark,  black  and  forbidding,  piled 
high  with  coal.  "In  there.?"  Frenchy  shook 
his  head.  "For  me,  ver'  good;  for  my  doree- 
mate,  no.  He  need  hot  coffee  and  bunk.  And 
hot  coffee  and  bunk  he  shall  have.  Shall  have, 
I  say."  Frenchie  articulated  those  precise  words 
with  exceeding  distinctness.  "And  right  away 
— at  once,  I  say.  No.?"  Then,  thanking  the 
good  God  for  the  strength  which  all  men  said 
was  his  in  abundance,  he  rolled  back  his  sleeves. 
The  uncovered  forearms  loomed  round,  bronzed, 
and  abnormal  in  development.  Small  wonder 
he  could  row  a  dory.     "Hot  coffee  for  mydoree- 

208 


Between  Shipmates 

mate,  I  say.  Do  you  hear  it  ? "  and,  with  the  veins 
swelHng  large  under  his  ears,  he  was  about  to 
leap  on  the  mate  when  the  cabin  boy,  awakened 
from  his  sleep,  stepped  into  the  light.  Frenchie 
spied  him.  What  need  to  fight,  after  all  ?  "  Get 
hot  coffee  and  mak'  up  bunk — a  good  bunk  for 
my  ship-mate.     Jump!  or  I  lick  you,  too!" 

The  boy  looked  to  the  mate. 

"Oh,  you  want  heem  to  give  order  V  Frenchie 
grinned  frightfully.  "Well,  in  one  mo-ment  he 
shall  order.  Geev  him  order.  No.f*"  The  bat- 
tle was  on.  An  immense  creature  was  the  mate 
but  a  creature  of  nothing  behind  the  vast  muscles, 
nothing  of  the  fibre  of  this  wild  man  who  had 
come  aboard  in  the  night,  and  who  now,  like  a  de- 
mon, saying  never  a  word,  but  smashing,  griping, 
throttling,  using  fingers,  fists,  elbows,  knees — 
anything — head,  shoulders — went  at  him,  and 
soon  made  a  mess  of  him.  In  five  or  six  minutes 
it  may  have  been,  the  big  glowering  hulk  had 
been  reduced  to  a  groveling,  bloody  mass  that 
sought  to  draw  itself  into  the  remotest  corner  of 
the  cabin,  to  shrink  itself  into  the  seams  of  the 
planking,  by  way  of  caulking,  as  it  were. 

When  there  came  no  further  oaths  or  words 
of  abuse,  Frenchie  bent  his  head.  "Well.?"  he 
asked,  and  relaxed  his  terrible  fingers  that  the 
mate  might  speak  the  word. 

209 


Between  Shipmates 

"Coffee — hot — and  biscuit,"  gurgled  the  mate 
to  the  cabin  boy. 

"And  bunk?" 

"And  a  bunk — two  bunks." 

"No — one  bunk.  The  coal  in  hold  plenty 
good  for  me,"  said  Frenchie;  and  on  the  coal, 
when  Arnold  had  come  to  life  again  and  was 
tucked  away  in  a  bunk,  he  laid  himself  with 
heartfelt  thanksgiving.  Bon  Dieu,  but  he  was 
tired ! 

A  long  time  Frenchie  slept.  The  light  of 
morning — not  the  next,  but  the  morning  after — 
was  flooding  the  companionway  when  he  shd 
back  the  door  in  the  bulkhead,  and  stepped  into 
the  cabin.  There  was  a  pot  of  coffee  on  the 
cabin  table  and  beside  it  some  biscuits,  to  which, 
without  seeking  anybody's  leave,  he  helped  him- 
self as  naturally  as  if  he  were  aboard  his  own 
vessel. 

He  ate  all  the  biscuits  on  the  table,  and  with 
them  took  four  cups  of  coffee  and  would  have 
taken  more  but  that  no  more  remained  in  the 
pot;  after  which,  with  sublime  feelings  in  his 
heart,  he  ran  up  the  companionway  and  all  but 
bowled  over  a  man  that  he  guessed  to  be  the  master 
of  the  bark,  as  he  leaped  onto  the  deck. 

It  was  a  large  but  somewhat  weak-looking 
210 


Between  Shipmates 

man,  who  gazed  admiringly  and  waved  his  hand 
pleasantly  as  Frenchie  was  about  to  apologize. 

"You  the  skipper?" 

"In  the  ship's  papers  Tm  so  rated."  Then, 
most  irrelevantly,  he  asked,  "You  don't  happen 
to  want  a  second-mate's  berth,  do  you?" 

"I'm  feesher-man." 

"I  know — I  wasn't  altogether  asleep  last  night. 
You're  the  quality  for  second  mate  and  won't 
have  to  bother  much  with  navigation.  The 
mate  will  be  most  of  your  concern — ^just  polish 
him  off  once  in  a  while.  Six  or  seven  days  astray, 
you  say  ? " 

"Seex  or  sev'n — hard  to  say — ^yes,  sair." 

"Lord,  the  things  you  could  'a'  done,  if  you'd 
been  fresh! — this  morning,  for  instance." 

"This  morning!"  Frenchie  took  a  full  breath 
and  threw  his  head  toward  the  blue  sky.  "This 
morning!" — and  he  gazed  long  on  the  green  sea. 
"This  morning!"  and,  looking  ahead,  he  saw 
where  the  horizon  lumped  like  a  row  of  low  clouds. 
"Land  ?  So  'tees — yes.  Ah-h — "  and  suddenly  he 
leaped  off  the  poop  and  ran  forward.   "Georgie!" 

Arnold,  who  was  leaning  over  the  bow  devour- 
ing the  land  with  his  eyes,  did  not  hear  Frenchie 
approach;  and  the  latter,  as  he  drew  nearer, 
found  himself  overcome  with  the  strangest  feel- 
ings.    Perhaps  Arnold  would  not   speak  to  him 

211 


Between  Shipmates 

even  now.  He  stood  shy  and  silent,  till  Arnold, 
turning  casually,  saw  him,  and,  catching  the  rare 
look  in  his  shipmate's  eyes,  could  no  longer  re- 
strain himself.     "Hullo,  Frenchie!" 

Frenchie  felt  ashamed — to  think  that  he  thought 
Arnold  would  not  speak  to  him.  "Hullo,  Georgie!" 
and  he  smiled  foolishly. 

Then  both  were  silent.  It  was  almost  as  if 
they  were  in  the  dory  again,  with  their  grim  wills 
in  control.  But  Frenchie  had  been  making  up 
his  mind  all  the  length  of  the  deck,  and  he  was 
not  to  be  overcome  now.  "How  you  feel,  Geor- 
gie ?     A  leetle  tired,  boy — ^yes  .? " 

"A  little,  Frenchie.  But  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
you,  I  cal'late  Fd  be  more  than  tired.  Fd  be 
dead  and  gone." 

Frenchie  fingered  the  collar  of  his  flannel  shirt. 
"Spick  sense,  Georgie — spick  sense." 

"That's  sense.     And,  Frenchie " 

"Yes?" 

Arnold  looked  fearfully  at  his  mate.  "Frenchie, 
bout  that  night  down  to  Long  Beach.  Why, 
Frenchie,  I  had  no  more  notion  of  tryin'  to  cut 
in  on  you  than  of — oh,  all  I  saw  was  a  girl  that 
looked  's  if  she  was  waitin'  for  somebody — Fd 
no  notion  who  for — and  I  butts  in.  And  when 
you  walked  by — why,  'f  Fd  known  't  was  for  you 

she'd  been  waitin' " 

212 


Between  Shipmates 

Frenchie  laid  a  hand  on  his  shipmate's  arm. 
"  Her  ?  Georgie — boy,  to  hell  with  her.  What 
is  one  damn  red-head  girl,  Georgie,  between  ship- 
mates?" And  so,  reunited,  they  leaned  over  the 
bow  and  gazed  fondly  at  the  looming  shore  of 
their  own   fair  country. 


213 


THE  ICE-DOGS 


The  Ice-Dogs 


IN  the  brackish  waters  of  the  Gulf  of  St.  Law- 
rence, to  which  the  entire  west  coast  of  New- 
foundland is  exposed,  the  winter  ice  forms  early 
and  stays  late.  By  the  end  of  December  the  ice- 
fields, which  are  even  then  beginning  to  lock  in 
the  westerly  coast  of  Labrador,  need  only  a  hard 
frost  to  become  welded  into  solid  floes;  and  these 
floes  but  a  fresh  northerly  gale  to  start  on  their 
way;  and  once  on  the  way  there  is  no  halt  until 
the  entire  west  coast  of  Newfoundland  has  been 
shut  in  and  one  vast  ice-lake  formed  of  the  gulf. 

Whatever  vessel  is  fairly  caught  in  the  gulf  by 
that  moving  mass  is  there  to  stay,  crushed  gen- 
erally like  a  toy-store  boat,  until  the  warmer 
breezes  of  late  spring  cast  the  crumpled  planking 
free.  Once  in  a  great  while  a  craft  so  caught 
drifts  about  in  the  ice,  and,  escaping  uncrushed, 
is  picked  up,  a  floating  derelict,  in  the  warmer 
weather,  but  never  in  such  are  any  live  men  found. 

Familiar  with  all  the  traditions  of  the  dreaded 
gulf  ice,  knowing  well  the  danger  that  lay  before 
them,  the  master  of  the  Arbiter  very  well  knew 
what  the  trader  Lackford  had  in  mind  when  he 

217 


The  Ice-Dogs 

hailed  after  his  departing  vessel:  "Well,  you've 
got  your  load,  but  you'll  never  get  to  the  States 
with  it.  You'll  do  well  if  you  don't  leave  her  out 
in  the  gulf — ^and  you  and  your  crew's  bones  in  her. 
She'll  make  a  fine  hard-pine  coffin  for  you  all!" 

"Hard  pine  and  oak,"  the  master  amended, 
grimly — "good  three-inch  oak  to  her  topsides," 
and  lightly  swung  his  little  schooner  out  of  the 
north  arm  of  the  Bay  of  Islands.  He  had  loaded 
her  in  the  teeth  of  opposition,  and  what  Lackford 
and  his  associates  thought  mattered  little  now. 

In  the  restricted  waters  of  North  Arm  the  gale, 
coming  in  puffs  only,  had  allowed  intervals  of 
rest;  but  in  the  more  open  reaches  of  the  bay 
there  was  no  easement  from  the  force  and  bite  of 
it.  Down  it  came  from  off  the  headlands  in  shoot- 
ing, whistling  squalls  that,  inshore,  cut  the  crests 
off  the  ambitious  little  seas  as  if  edged  with  steel, 
and  offshore  threatened  to  snatch  the  canvas  from 
the  vessel;  and  still  rushing  onward,  did  whip  the 
width  and  breadth  of  the  surface  of  the  bay  till 
all  alee  was  a  turmoil  of  white  spume;  and  so  cold 
was  it  that  the  men  were  forced  to  duck  their 
heads  sideways  to  the  wind  and  spray. 

And  yet  in  it  was  a  beauty  to  inspire,  as  the 
crew,  intent  on  their  work,  could  not  but  notice. 
There  was  the  vessel  tearing  through  a  rolling  level 
of  feather-white ;  there  were  the  heavens  unflecked, 

218 


The  Ice-Dogs 

and  of  a  blue  so  pale  as  to  have  a  touch  of  green 
in  it;  and  only  that  tint  of  greenish-blue  in  all 
that  frosty  sky,  except  for  one  long  streak  of  vivid 
crimson  edging  the  crests  of  the  high  hills  now 
coming  abeam;  and  the  hollows  of  those  same 
hills,  ordinarily  so  gray  and  forbidding,  were  now 
invested  with  those  purplish  shadows  which,  the 
natives  say,  never  cling  just  so  except  before  the 
twilight  of  a  clear,  freezing  winter's  day. 

"God  in  heaven,  but  'tis  grand!"  murmured 
the  master;  breathed  it  like  a  prayer,  but  might 
not  look  his  fill  because  of  the  danger  ahead, 
where  from  the  mists  loomed  steep-sided  heights, 
which  would  need  to  be  weathered  ere  they  were 
free  of  the  threatening  waters  in  the  Bay  of  Islands. 

From  the  hard-featured  old  bluff  called  Blow- 
me-down  came  the  gale  in  renewed  gusts,  before 
which  the  Arbiter  again  and  again  careened  so 
dangerously  that  even  this  habituated  crew  gazed 
thoughtfully  down  the  icy  slope  of  her  deck.  But 
always  the  master  watched,  and  eye  and  judg- 
ment never  failing,  she  was  luffed,  and  luffed  again, 
never  too  soon  to  lose  distance,  never  too  late  for 
salvation. 

The  crew,  standing  by  the  sheets,  blew  on  their 
fingers  and  threshed  benumbed  hands  across 
their  muflfled-up  breasts.  "Wow!  but  somebody's 
ketchin'  it  somewhere  to-night!" 

219 


The  Ice-Dogs 

"Ay,  the  devil  to  pay — the  dance  of  the  ice- 
dogs  in  the  gulf  to-night." 

Presently  the  surf  of  St.  Mary's  rock  boiled 
out  under  their  port  rail.  By  then  full  night  had 
wrapped  them  round,  and  the  outlines  of  grim  old 
Weebald,  guardian  to  the  southern  pass,  were  but 
faintly  framed  in  the  shadows. 

"No  harm  if  we  don't  see  him — we'll  know 
when  we  lay  him  abeam  by  the  roar  of  the  swash 
rushing  up  the  steep  side  of  him.  The  back- 
wash will  all  but  smother  our  starb'd  rail  if  we 
run  the  course  true."  And  sure  enough  it  was 
the  thunderous  wintry  surf  booming  up  the  iron 
crags,  rather  than  any  conventional  sailor's  means 
of  reckoning,  which  assured  them  where  the  huge 
rock  lay  as  they  shot  by  the  shrouded  base. 

With  Weebald  astern  there  was  no  longer  the 
worry  of  navigation  in  close  waters.  Thereafter 
the  danger  was  plain.  From  Bay  of  Islands  to 
Cape  Ray  was  no  farther  than  the  Arbiter  had  sailed 
on  many  a  winter's  night;  a  dash,  no  more,  even 
for  a  sailing  craft  through  water — if  the  course 
were  put  as  the  birds  fly.  But  half-way  down  the 
coast  was  Cape  St.  George  jutting  out  into  the 
gulf  like  another  little  continent,  and  below  that 
St.  Anguille  again,  ere  they  could  make  Cape  Ray. 

And  it  was  not  alone  the  lengthened  distance 
of  the  doubling  course:  the  wind  that  had  been 

220 


The  Ice-Dogs 

blowing  fairly  from  the  north  for  a  week  was  now 
to  the  west.  Observed  the  master:  "After  giving 
the  ice  a  good  shove,  it  had  to  haul  to  head  us  off. 
A  dead  beat  all  the  way.  And  'twill  be  ice  to  one 
side  of  us  and  the  cliffs  of  the  shore  to  the  other. 
We  know  where  the  cliffs  are,  and,  thank  the 
Lord,  they  can't  move.  But  only  the  Lord  knows 
where  the  ice  is — or  will  be.  But  we'll  put  her  on 
the  northerly  tack  now,  get  as  far  offshore  as  we 
can  before  it  gets  us;"  and  so,  under  pressure  of 
all  the  canvas  her  spars  would  spread,  the  little 
schooner  bore  into  the  portentous  waters  of  St. 
Lawrence  Gulf. 

Night  was  merging  into  day,  and  the  pale  rays 
of  a  freezing  winter's  dawn  were  uncovering  the 
restless  seas,  ere  they  could  guess  how  matters 
stood  in  the  gulf.  From  the  deck  was  cold  toss- 
ing green  water  as  far  as  a  man  could  see;  but 
from  the  masthead,  where  Clancy  presently 
ascended,  the  waters  toward  the  western  horizon 
were  seen  to  be  dotted  with  pieces  of  ice.  Well 
the  master  knew  them — little  cakes  they  would 
be,  large  as  the  top  of  a  hatch  or  the  bottom  of  a 
dory.  No  great  harm  them;  but  in  their  wake 
would  be  the  almost  solid  stuff,  the  great  fields 
which  were  immovable  to  the  power  of  man  as 
the  shore  itself. 

221 


The  Ice-Dogs 

Despite  the  threatening  outlook,  they  would 
have  to  work  farther  offshore,  or  by  and  by  when 
they  put  to  the  southward  they  would  be  unable 
to  fetch  by  Cape  St.  George.  So  to  the  west  and 
north  the  fast-sailing  Arbiter  continued  to  eat  up 
the  rapid  miles. 

In  good  time  they  found  the  young  ice  as  ex- 
pected, not  crowded  close,  but  tossing  wide,  with 
plenty  of  free  water  between,  nowhere  sufficiently 
close-set  to  stop  a  hard-driven  vessel ;  and  certainly 
not  this  vessel,  which  had  come  from  out  of  the 
bay  and  into  the  gulf  like  one  running  from  the 
fear  of  death. 

The  master  studied  the  situation.  "We  cer- 
t'nly  can't  weather  Cape  George  on  the  next  tack 
from  here.  We  must  get  further  offshore,  further 
to  the  westward  yet.  It's  the  solid  stuff  we  have 
to  watch  for  now.  Go  aloft,  you  Sam,  and  have 
an  eye  out  for  it." 

Up  the  fore-rigging  heaved  Sam  Leary,  hum- 
ming serenely  to  the  swaying  rat-lines: 

"For  when  that  we  see, 
Tis  then  'twill  be 
Off  on  our  heels 
And  away  wi'  we ! " 

"And  devil  a  stop  then  for  anything  this  side 
of  hell,  hah,  Sammie?"  concluded,  most  unmetri- 
cally,  a  discursive  watchmate,  Gillis  by  name. 

222 


The  Ice-Dogs 

The  master  was  having  a  reflective  mug-up 
below,  when,  "Ice-O!"  came  from  aloft.  Bolt- 
ing the  meat  and  gulping  the  coffee,  he  piled  up 
on  deck.     "Solid.?" 

"Northerly  it's  solid,  but  I  can't  say  yet  to  the 
westward." 

The  master  joined  Leary  aloft.  "You're  right, 
I  think,  Sammie,  but  we'll  make  sure.  Hand 
up  the  glasses,  one  of  you.  Man!  but  it's  a  cold 
draught  that  spills  into  a  fellow's  chest  up  here!" 

He  examined  the  horizon  to  the  northward; 
a  moment  and  he  swept  the  glasses  to  the  west- 
ward. "I'm  not  too  sure  it  won't  head  us  off, 
Sammie,  if  we  don't  put  about  soon.  Oh,  below 
there!  call  up  the  gang  to  shift  the  stays'l — we'll 
be  tackin'  in  a  minute.  Hurry  'em.  This  stuff 
is  too  handy  entirely,  though  we'll  get  away  at 
that.  But  hold — what  in  God's  name!  Look, 
Sammie,  look,  boy!     There — see  nothing?" 

"A  bubbly  lump  of  ice,  Skipper.?" 

"Devil!  no,  but  a  dory  coated  with  ice.  And  a 
dory  means  men, or  ought  to.  Frozen  .?  Ay,  may  be. 
But  no.    No,  no-no!  they're  alive!  See 'em  now?" 

"God!  yes,  alongside  the  dory — hauling  it  over 
the  floe.     Must've  got  caught  out." 

"That's  it.  And  out  all  last  night,  that's  sure. 
And  a  blessed  cold  night  for  men  to've  been  out 
on  an  ice-floe'.     Oh,  on  deck!     Never  mind  tacking 

223 


The  Ice-Dogs. 

now.     Swing  her  off  half  a  point  and  let  her  go 


into  it." 


Under  the  bow  and  bottom  of  the  Arbiter 
crowded  the  young  ice  as  toward  the  floe  she  bore. 
Drawing  nearer,  it  packed  yet  more  thickly  about 
her  hull,  and  the  more  thickly  the  ice  gathered, 
the  more  slowly  did  she  make  sail,  until  from  fly- 
ing in  free  water,  like  a  gull  for  home,  she  was 
now  moving  sluggishly  as  a  poled  punt  on  inland 
waters. 

Presently  the  mounting  light  of  the  sun  dis- 
closed the  little  schooner  from  which  the  castaways 
were  fleeing.  Sam  recognized  the  type  at  once. 
"A  Newfoundlander,  that's  sure,  skipper" 

"Ay,  and  a  Bay  of  Islands  craft,  too,  Sammie." 

"Bay  of  Islands,"  repeated  Gillis.  "If  the 
traders  and  politicians  only  had  their  way  with 
American  vessels  there.  Skipper — wouldn't  it  be 
queer  now.?  Skipper — "  but  Captain  Clancy, 
the  impatient,  was  sliding  to  the  deck. 

"Drive  her  into  it,"  he  ordered  the  man  at  the 
wheel. 

There  came  the  time  when  the  Arbiter  could 
barely  forge  ahead,  whereupon  rose  a  murmur 
that  she  was  standing  on  too  long. 

"Charity  begins  at  home,"  growled  one  par- 
ticular dissenter. 

"True  enough,  but  no  need  to  end  it  there," 
224 


The  Ice-Dogs 

retorted  the  master,  and  repeating  the   inflexible 
order.  "Keep  her  to  it!"  to  it  she  was  kept. 

Shortly  came  the  warning  from  aloft:  "Head- 
ing us  off  every  minute  to  the  southward,  Skipper." 

The  master  nodded,  but  his  expression  was  not 
reassuring  to  the  weak-hearted  ones. 

"Can  we  get  'em  aboard  and  get  away,  Skipper, 
too?" 

"Hard  telling." 

"And  it  may  mean  floatin'  around  here  for  the 
Lord  knows  how  long — till  spring,  maybe." 

"Spring.?"  A  faint  smile  parted  his  lips.  "A 
damn  late  spring,  boy — long  past  any  Easter 
resurrection." 

"Oh,  Skipper!"  Leary  was  hanging  far  out 
from  his  perch  aloft.  "Do  you  know  who  that 
gang  is  .f*  They're  off  the  Araminta — Lackford 
owns  part  of  her." 

The  crew  took  up  Sam's  hail.  Lackford .? 
Of  all  the  men  they  begrudged  doing  a  good  turn 
— had  they  come  in  here  to  get  Lackford's  gang, 
maybe  to  get  lost  themselves  ?  and  put  it  to  the 
master,  lest  in  his  preoccupation  he  might  forget. 
"Why,  'twas  him.  Skipper,  would  sink  us  to  our 
moorings  an'  he  could." 

The  master  was  not  altogether  buried  in  ab- 
straction. Like  a  bolt  he  thundered:  "Oh,  get 
to  hell  out  of  here!    What  odds  is  that  now.'*" 

225 


The  Ice-Dogs 

Exhausted,  frost-bitten,  worn  to  the  last  ex- 
tremity, the  crew  of  the  Araminta  were  dragged 
aboard.  A  pitiful  sight!  With  hands  and  faces 
burned  by  the  frost  and  eyes  that  were  shrunk  to 
pin-points  from  long-gazing  at  the  glaring  ice,  they 
leaned  wearily  against  the  rigging,  masts,  across 
the  house,  wherever  they  could  find  support. 

The  master  cheered  them  up.  "A  good  rub- 
bing of  ice  on  your  ears,  hands,  and  faces  before 
they  can  mortify,  a  mug  of  hot  coffee  and  a  good 
sleep  afterwards,  and  you'll  forget  all  that,"  and 
after  seeing  to  it  that  they  were  taken  below,  headed 
the  Arbiter  for  the  open  water  again. 

With  the  wind  behind  her  the  vessel  now  made 
fairly  rapid  work  of  it,  despite  the  hindrance  of 
the  slob-ice,  which  to  their  anxious  eyes  seemed 
to  mark  the  sea  half-way  to  the  coast  of  New- 
foundland. That  same  rugged  coast-line  lifting 
above  the  horizon,  as  they  doubled  back,  was  a 
tempting  sight  to  many,  since  they  had  seen  what 
had  happened  to  hardy  men  after  just  one  cold 
night  astray  on  the  ice! 

"And  we  might  do  a  lot  worse  than  to  run 
back  into  the  same  Bay  of  Islands  we  just  left 
and  hang  up  there  till  next  spring."  GiUis  sug- 
gested this  to  Leary. 

"'Sh-h — "  Leary  ducked  his  head  toward 
the  skipper. 

226 


The  Ice-Dogs 

But  Clancy  had  heard.  "No,  I'm  damned  if 
I  do.  We  were  sent  here  to  revive  the  rights  of 
the  American  fishermen  under  the  treaty  of  1818, 
to  come  here  and  take  away  all  the  herring  she 
can  net,  seine,  or  hook.  More  or  less  trouble, 
to  be  sure,  there  was ;  but  trouble  that  won't  likely 
be  repeated  another  year.  A  lawyer  might  say, 
on  matter  what  happens  now,  we've  won  our 
point;  but  there's  more  than  that.  We  got  to  get 
the  load  home.  We  go  back  there  to  Bay  of  Islands 
and  let  the  herring  rot  in  our  hold,  and  what  '11 
happen.?  *They  didn't  do  it,'  they'll  all  say  of 
us  there  in  the  bay,  and  we'll  be  an  object-lesson, 
an  example  of  American  failure,  for  a  year  again; 
and  maybe  'twould  result  in  a  new  treaty  being 
put  through  on  us.  More  than  that,  we  go  back 
there  and  the  owner  will  lose  money.  And  the 
owner's  got  to  be  considered.  We  fail  and  he's 
out  a  lot.  We  win  and  he's  in  a  good  haul.  We 
got  to  win  out.  But" — he  turned  to  the  crew — 
"  for  all  you're  shipped  and  bound,  I  want  no  man 
to  think  he's  throwing  his  life  away.  There's 
the  seine-boat  and  a  sail,  and  full  leave  to  go. 
It's  moderatin'  inshore,  smooth  water  under  the 
lee  of  the  ice  now,  and  the  wind  that's  against  us 
to  get  home  is  fair  as  c'n  be  for  a  run  into  the  bay. 
Now's  your  chance — your  last  chance — no  more  har- 
bor between  here  and  Cape  Ray.     Who's  going  ? " 

227 


The  Ice-Dogs 

Silence  reigned,  till  Leary  spoke.  "I  don't 
caFlate  anybody's  hankerin'  to  quit,  Skipper  ? 
Are  you,  Gillis?" 

"Me?    Why,  Sammie!" 

"Or  you?" 

"No,  not  me!" 

"Nor  me — nor  me!"  followed  the  chorus  of 
quick  disclaimers. 

"Well,  then" — the  master  spoke  here — "we're 
off — to  see  what  we  c'n  do  for  ourselves  now." 

The  Arbiter  was  a  notably  weatherly  vessel, 
even  among  a  fleet  noted  for  weatherly  qualities. 
In  free  water  she  would  have  winged  her  way  to 
windward  like  a  skirling  gull;  but  here  was  no 
free  water.  Only  by  merciless  thrashing  of  sail 
and  sea,  by  pitiless  driving  on  the  master's  part, 
had  she  managed  by  this,  late  afternoon  of  the 
day  after  the  rescue,  to  squeeze  abeam  of  St. 
George;  and  St.  George  was  less  than  half-way, 
with  the  really  uncertain  waters  yet  before  them. 
No  knowing  how  far  inshore  the  ice  to  the  south- 
ward had  drifted. 

And  it  was  still  drifting;  and  growing  colder; 
and,  in  the  opinion  of  everybody,  the  coldest 
night  of  all  that  was  before  them,  for  already  the 
congealing  sea,  where  it  lay  in  little  ponds  of  water 
among  the  scattered  cakes,  was  taking  on  a  whiten- 

228 


The  Ice-Dogs 

ing  film,  through  which  the  vessel  cleft  her  way 
with  a  noise  as  of  a  pair  of  scissors  tearing  through 
starched  cloth.  Not  yet  enough  to  check  her, 
but  in  the  increasing  coldness — and  surely  when 
night  was  come  and  the  benignant  sun  no  longer 
mellowed,  'twould  be  cold  indeed — this  scum 
would  thicken  so  rapidly  that  nowhere  would  there 
be  left  a  way  of  escape  for  the  vessel.  So,  at  least, 
decided  the  crew,  albeit  through  all  their  periods  of 
doubt  and  inquiry  they  retained  full  faith  in  their 
leader.  "This  man,  he's  never  lost  us  yet,"  was 
their  boast  to  the  rescued  men. 

Under  the  light  of  the  moon — a  dim,  yellow, 
scared-looking  moon  which  set  early  that  evening 
— they  saw  the  vessel  com^e  to  a  full  stop,  and  that 
despite  everything  on  her  drawing  full  and  a  gale 
of  wind  sweeping  down  with  a  wail  as  of  a  multi- 
tude of  banshees  across  the  dotted  seas.  Later 
that  night  they  could  feel  the  ice  crowding  about 
the  vessel.  The  rescued  men,  who  alone  were 
resting,  could  plainly  hear  it  grinding  against  her 
planking  as  they  lay  in  the  bunks  below.  "Like 
it  began  when  our  schooner  was  caught,"  they  de- 
clared to  Clancy,  who,  however,  did  not  encourage 
them  to  gossip  over  it. 

A  night  of  suspense  altogether,  and  still  gray 
in  the  east  when  Clancy  went  aloft  for  signs. 
Everywhere  ice.     To  the  east  the  small    ice,  to 

229 


The  Ice-Dogs 

west  and  north  the  great  sheets.  Far  away,  south- 
ward, was  open  water,  but  even  that  clear  space 
the  drifting  floes  promised  soon  to  claim.  But  hold 
— here  and  there  in  the  dawn  the  master  descried 
lakes  of  water.  "  If  I  could  only  get  her  started 
among  them  once,  Fd  make  her  hop  over  the  places 
between,"  he  muttered.  Some  further  pondering 
and  he  passed  the  word  to  hang  the  dory  from 
the  bowsprit  and  for  the  men  to  get  into  it. 

Under  the  concentrated  weight,  the  men  jump- 
ing up  and  down  in  unison,  the  ice  gave  way. 
Hauling  the  dory  ahead,  they  repeated  that  over 
and  over,  breaking  out  thus  a  clogged  channel, 
through  which  in  the  strong  breeze  the  master 
forced  a  passage  for  the  vessel.  After  a  hundred 
repetitions  came  a  hurrah  of  success.  "Clear 
water!"  they  hallooed.  "No  telling  how  far,  but 
clear  water.  Skipper,"  and  came  tumbling  in  over 
the  knightheads. 

With  sheets  off,  Clancy  let  her  have  her  head, 
and  she,  the  able  Arbiter,  increasing  her  speed 
with  every  foot  of  water  left  behind,  went  bowling 
toward  the  edge  of  the  next  floe  beyond. 

The  Arbiter  was  one  of  the  latest  of  the 
McManus  models,  a  true  American  development, 
with  forefoot  well  cut  away.  "You  couldn't  do  it 
with  every  vessel,"  explained  Clancy.  "  But  with 
this  one — !" 

230 


The  Ice-Dogs 

Cr-r-wh!  up  and  on  to  the  ice  hopped  the 
Arbiter,  not  cutting  knife-like  into  it  as  the 
crew  had  expected,  but  riding  over  it,  as  if  she 
would  stand  up  on  her  stern-post  and  topple 
over.  But  no  toppling  over  for  her;  before 
she  came  to  that  the  weight  of  her  hull  and 
cargo  told,  and  through  the  steel-gray  stuff  she 
went  crashing. 

Again  with  the  wind  behind  her  she  went  at 
it,  and  again  she  rode  over  it  and  down — cr-r-a-a-ck. 
The  noise  of  them!  And  a  s-p-plas-h!  Mag- 
nificently the  broken  cakes  fell  away  to  either  side, 
while  all  about  her,  from  between  the  ragged 
edges  up  through  the  gaping  seams,  squished  the 
cold  green  sea. 

"Shootin'  the  chutes!" 

"Or  roller-coastin'!" 

"Man!  but  'twould  be  the  greatest  fun  alive, 
if  only  a  fellow  could  be  sure  of  pulling  through  at 
last,  *'  observed  Gillis.    A  garrulous  lad,  Gillis. 

The  severed  cakes  were  bowling  ahead  and 
abeam,  the  cold  brine  was  spouting  far  across 
the  frozen  surface.  "Now  we  got  her  started, 
maybe  we  c'n  keep  her  going,"  said  Clancy,  and, 
lashed  to  the  masthead  that  he  might  not  be 
shaken  off,  he  picked  out  the  open  spots  for  her, 
till  night  came,  when  they  worked  by  instinct, 
ploughing  along  slowly,  praying  the  fates  to  keep 

231 


The  Ice-Dogs 

them  clear  of  any  pocket  from  which  men  might 
not  work  a  vessel  out. 

Once  more  the  unrolHng  dawn  disclosed  solid 
ice  as  far  as  the  eye  could  span.  Doomed  they 
certainly  were  if  something  did  not  happen  soon. 
"We  got  to  get  out  of  here."  Clancy  searched 
the  crawling,  frozen  plain  for  signs  of  hope.  There 
was  clear  water,  but  like  a  maddening  mirage  it 
lay,  with  ice  now  so  compact  that  no  human  load 
they  could  crowd  into  a  dory  would  break  it  down; 
and  no  chance  to  drive  the  vessel  on  to  it. 

And  yet — what  was  the  good  of  having  ideas 
and  not  trying  to  work  them  out  .^ — he  sent  some 
of  the  crew  to  creep  out  on  the  ice,  cut  a  hole, 
and  therein  set  the  foretopmast,  which  he  unslung 
for  the  purpose.  The  spar  was  made  fast  to  the 
chain  cable,  which  inboard  was  connected  with 
the  windlass. 

"Chop  the  ice  away  now  to  give  her  a  start, 
and  then  heave  away." 

To  force  the  vessel  through  that  flinty  ice  called 
for  the  most  unwavering  effort  of  all  hands. 
These  men  were  accustomed  to  furious  exertions, 
but  heretofore  for  comparatively  short  periods 
only,  two  or  three  or  four  hours  at  a  time,  and  al- 
ways followed  by  a  sweet  spell  of  rest.  But  this 
up-and-down  sawing!  There  was  something  of 
play  to  hauling  a  trawl,  under-running   nets,  or 

232 


The  Ice-Dogs 

rowing  a  dory,  or  hoisting  a  sail ;  in  any  of  that 
work  was  a  certain  measure  of  rhythm  that  all 
strong  men  enjoy.  A  fellow  might  swing  in  time 
to  any  of  that,  and  there  was  always  the  oppor- 
tunity at  that  to  toss  arms  and  shoulders  about 
now  and  again.  But  this  being  cooped  and 
jammed  in  the  bow  of  the  vessel  and  sawing  away, 
up  and  down,  up  and  down,  and  never  so  much 
as  to  feel  the  deck  heave  under  a  man's  feet,  why, 
that  was  what  a  man  might  call  hard  work. 

"Galley-slaves,"  some  one  suggested. 

"Galley-slaves!"  snorted  Leary.  "Never  did 
those  loafers  have  to  face  anything  like  this.  They 
had  only  to  sit  side  by  side,  nice  and  sociable,  and 
pull  on  a  long  oar  in  lovely  weather,  with  the  warm 
spiced  winds  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea  being 
wafted — yes,  wafted,  I  said — through  the  open 
ports.  Don't  tell  me!  I've  read  of  them,  and 
I've  been  in  the  Mediterranean.  While  here" — he 
waved  a  rampart  arm — "here  'tis  blasts  of  frozen 
air  from  a  frozen  pole  to  cut  like  razor-edges." 

"Ay,  and  fresh  honed  after  every  blast,  those 


same  razors." 


"  Razors  ?  No,  but  saws— saws  with  good, 
able  teeth  in  'em." 

"And  claws." 

"That's  it,  claws.  And  eye-teeth  like  con- 
demned ice-dogs." 

^33 


The  Ice-Dogs 

"Ay,  the  whelps*  sons!" 

However,  even  that  had  an  ending,  and,  clear 
of  that  last  floe  began  what  they  hoped  would  be 
the  last  tack  of  the  most  dangerous  winter  passage 
that  men  in  sailing  craft  attempt  in  all  the  world, 
'tis  said.  For  the  west  coast  of  Newfoundland 
is  a  cruel  coast,  sheer  cliff,  with  never  an  inlet  for 
a  vessel  in  distress  to  run  for  between  St.  George 
and  Cape  Ray.  Not  that  they  had  a  mind  to  run 
for  any  harbor.  They  were  at  one  with  the  master 
in  that.  "It's  home  we  want  to  get,"  he  bit  out, 
and  sent  the  Arbiter  along  the  edge  of  the  fate- 
driven  floe.  "No  leeway,"  w^s  his  standing  com- 
mand; "grab  every  foot  of  water  off'-shore.  By 
and  by  we'll  need  it  all." 

In  the  discouraging  hours  there  were  those  who 
had  declared  that  they  cared  not  whether  they 
lived  or  died.  But  not  so  now,  when  hope  was 
rosy.  There  was  young  Gillis.  "We'll  make  it, 
after  all,  don't  you  think,  Sammie.?"  he  inquired 
of  Leary. 

"You're  the  damnedest  man  for  asking  foolish 
questions.  How  do  I  know  any  more  than  you } 
Shut  up!  You  know  about  how  far  we  have  to 
go,  how  the  ice's  been  driftin',  and  what  the  ves- 
sel c'n  do  in  this  breeze." 

Leary's  temper  betrayed  his  own  doubt.   Would 

they  make  it  ?    Would  they  ?     Could 

234 


The  Ice-Dogs 

"Well,  Vm  damned!"  came  softly,  almost 
humorously,  from  the  master. 

Only  Leary,  standing  nearest,  heard  it.  He 
looked,  and  in  a  moment  saw  for  himself.  No 
larger  than  a  cart-wheel  it  was  then,  whirling 
with  increasing  pace,  as  might  a  ball  down  a  hill. 
Leary  experimentally  inhaled  the  dampening  air, 
one  breath,  another,  paused  meditatively.  "Blast 
it!"  he  exploded. 

By  now  the  crew  were  awake  to  this  new 
menace  which  had  taken  shape  much  like  a  cloud 
above  a  powder  explosion,  and  grown  as  mysteri- 
ously, out  of  itself  as  it  were,  much  as  a  flame 
fed  by  gas,  but  opaque  and  settling  down  on  them 
calmly,  silently,  irresistibly,  as  if  it  were  the  sky 
itself  which  was  dropping,  with  immense  convo- 
luting  billows  of  vapor  foreshadowing.  Billows  I 
If  they  were  only  real  billows  of  the  sea  which,  roll- 
ing down  and  attempting  to  overpower,  and  meet- 
ing an  able  vessel  and  a  ready  crew,  would  have  to 
pass  on  futilely  roaring — but  these  stayed  with  them ! 

It  was  like  black  night.  Farther  than  their 
arms  could  touch  they  could  not  see.  Their  po- 
sitions around  deck  were  bespoke  by  their  voices, 
which  resounded  curiously,  as  if  they  were  in 
different  rooms  of  a  building  and  attempting  to 
carry  on  conversations  through  undefined  but 
effective  partitions.      In  their  first  surprise  they 

235 


The  Ice-Dogs 

yelled  unnecessarily  loud — all  but  the  master. 
Slowly,  evenly,  his  tones  vibrating  for  the  moment 
with  no  more  disturbing  emotion  than  surprise, 
the  comforting  voice  floated  out:  "What  do  you 
think  of  that  now?  A  while  ago  Fd  Ve  laid 
even  money  on  our  chances." 

"And  now.  Skipper,  it's  long  odds  against  us  ?" 

They  waited  for  the  answer,  facing  toward  the 
spot  where  they  had  last  seen  him  standing.  It 
came,  after  a  pause,  in  judicial  tones,  as  of  one  ad- 
vising them.  "Well,  no,  I  wouldn't  say  that. 
With  a  vessel  like  this  one  under  us  and  a  gang 
that  '11  never  quit,  as  I  know  none  of  you  will, 
the  odds  'd  never  be  against  us." 

But  all  nerves  were  not  under  such  control. 
One,  in  his  dread,  had  to  cry  out,  and  curiously, 
like  a  despairing  voice  from  beyond  a  wall,  it 
sounded:  "And  yet  blast  it,  I  say,  for  a  black 
smoke  from  hell;  and  blast  the  devils  that  brought 
it!" 

For  overwrought  emotions  the  master's  charity 
was  always  large.  Well  he  knew  that  when  men 
get  that  way  the  strongest  of  them  are  sometimes 
like  children,  and  so  now  he  reproved  but  mildly: 
"Hush!  From  hell  or  heaven,  we'll  give  it  battle. 
It  can't  last  forever;  coming  as  it  did,  it  can't." 

Elbows  touching  and  heads  near,  bodies  close 
236 


The  Ice-Dogs 

but  thoughts  far  apart,  Leary  and  Gillls  leaned 
over  the  rail.  Unseen  by  human  eyes,  but  roar- 
ing to  the  winds,  the  swash  swept  by  beneath 
them.  Above  it  Leary  hung  impassive.  Not  so 
GiUis.  He  squirmed  nervously.  Too  young  he 
for  philosophic  calm.  He  sought  to  pierce  the 
void;  but  to  no  avail.  It  was  Hke  looking  at  a 
curtain  of  black  velvet.  A  curious  new  dread 
began  to  take  hold  of  him. 

Booms  ratching,  sails  straining,  blocks  creaking, 
halliards  moaning,  wind  wailing,  spray  splashing, 
somewhere  above  a  sun  shining  and  yet  not  to  be 
seen.  Ice  to  one  side — he  could  hear  the  sound 
of  that,  too,  whenever  the  side  of  vessel,  held 
closer  than  usual  by  the  skipper's  iron  hand, 
rasped  the  edge  of  the  floe;  ice  to  one  side,  the 
eternal  cliffs  to  the  other,  and  the  vessel  tearing 
along  like  a  black-swathed  ghost — Lord  in  heaven, 
what  would  happen! 

What  could  happen  ?  GiUis  had  to  speak,  if  no 
more  than  to  hear  the  sound  of  somebody  else's  voice 
to  reassure  him  he  wasn't  dead,  serving  out  his  pen- 
ance somewhere  in  a  seaman's  purgatory.  He  sim- 
ply had  to  speak.  He  was  no  iron-nerved  Clancy 
or  widely  experienced  Leary.  If  they  were  to  feel 
the  vessel  leaping,  leaving  the  earth  itself,  shooting 
off  into  space  somewhere,  they  would  but  grin,  and 
brace  their  legs  and  wait  for  her  to  fetch  up,  wher- 


The  Ice-Dogs 

ever  'twould  but  she'd  fetch  up.  He  laid  an  almost 
timid  hand  on  Leary's  arm. 

"Sammie,  suppose  the  skipper's  out  in  his  reck- 
oning what  then .?  A  wonderful  man  altogether, 
but  it's  four  days  since  we  left  the  Bay  of  Islands, 
and  not  a  chance  for  an  observation  since.  And 
the  forty  zigzag  courses  we've  steered  since  then, 
with  no  mortal  man  able  to  say  what  her  speed 
was  at  times!  And  who  could  figure  a  vessel's 
speed  and  drift  in  the  ice,  anyway  ?  'Tisn't  navi- 
gation alone,  Sammie,  that  question.  A  whole 
collegeful  of  scientific  sharps,  a  whole  bunch  of 
'em  figurin'  and  pokin'  their  instruments  to  the 
sky  at  one  time,  couldn't  get  it  right." 

Leary  came  slowly  out  of  his  reverie.  "No, 
Gillie,  they  couldn't.  There'd  be  nobody  so 
helpless  as  them  same  scientific  sharps  on  a  pas- 
sage like  this,  if  the  whole  outfit  of  'em  weren't 
froze  stiff,  or  dead  from  want  of  sleep  afore  this. 
Only  a  man  that's  born  to  the  sea  and  that's  lived 
all  his  life  on  it,  that  knows  it  like  he  knows  his 
own  soul,  and  with  that  know  all  that  comes  out 
of  the  sea,  tides  and  wind  and  ice,  and  just  now  the 
queer  workings  of  this  particular  gulf — only  such 
a  man,  that  knows  what  no  book  '11  ever  teach,  nor, 
Gillie,  what  no  other  man  can  ever  teach  him,  that 
knows  things  about  the  ocean  that  he  doesn't  know 
he  knows,  c'n  save  us.     And  that's  this  man,  Gillie. 

238 


The  Ice-Dogs 

No  log,  no  chart,  no  sights,  but  no  fear,  he  knows 
where  she  is,  and  he  said  this  vapor'd  Hft  in  time  to 
give  us  a  chance;  and  since  he  says  so,  it  will." 

"  But  suppose  he  slips  up,  or  the  vessel  slips  up, 
and  we  don't  make  it,  what  then?" 

"Why,  then,  after  waitin'  long  enough  to  make 
sure  it's  true,  they'll  put  us  in  the  papers,  and 
that's  when  you'll  hear  the  good  of  yourself;  and 
when  the  likes  of  you  and  me  hear  good  of  ourselves 
in  the  papers,  Gillie,  we  can  be  sure  that  it's  our 
'bituaries  we're  reading.  And — but  'sh-h — lis- 
ten— "  Leary  squeezed  the  younger  man's  arm. 
"'Sh-h—     Wait— Hear  it?" 

Gillis  did  hear  it,  the  surge  of  the  sea  against  the 
invisible  cliffs,  and  peered  out  apprehensively;  and 
drew  quick  breaths — "  M-m,  m-m — but  it's  damn 
handy  to — under  our  lee,  that  shore,  Sammie!" 

Leary  nodded. 

"And  she's  rushin'  on,  Sammie — Lord  in  heaven 
but  she's  rushin'  on — hah,  Sammie?" 

Leary  nodded. 

"And  where  to,  Sammie — where  to?" 

"  God !  Gillie,  how  do  I  know  ? — to  whatever 
'tis  is  waitin'  for  her,  I  s'pose." 

"And  to  le' ward, too — Lord  in  heaven, Sammie!" 

And  what  was  waiting  for  her  ?  And  what  was 
waiting  for  him  ?  Gillis  peered  anew  at  his  mate, 
but  Leary  had  relapsed  to  his  former  attitude; 

239 


The  Ice-Dogs 

chin  on  hands  and  elbows  on  rail,  that  fateful  ad- 
venturer was  gazing  impassably  out  into  the  dark. 
Gillis  sighed  impotently.  And  so  a  man  could — 
at  Sam's  age.  A  fine  old  age,  Sammie's.  A  man 
could  have  lived  a  lot  at  thirty-five,  but  what  did 
a  man  know  of  life  at  twenty-two  ?  And  yet  Gillis 
smiled  even  in  his  despair — he'd  had  his  great  days 
too.  Back  in  Bay  of  Islands  was  a  girl,  but  let 
her  pass.  In  Gloucester  was  a  girl,  a  better  girl 
—so  much  better  that  he  used  to  lower  his  eyes,  for 
all  he  wanted  to  look  at  her,  when  she  passed. 
And  she  didn't  know;  and  if  she  did,  it  wouldn't 
matter.  Something  better  than  a  hand  in  a  fishing- 
vessel  for  her.  That  was  the  trouble :  if  only  the 
good  women  would  make  allowances;  but  they 
didn't.  And,  after  all — with  another  sign  GiUis 
admitted  it — they  were  right.  A  woman  that  mar- 
ried an  offshore  fisherman  was  a  fool.  No;  good 
women  were  not  for  the  likes  of  him,  no  more  than 
him  for  good  women.  And  so  he'd  taken  up  with 
the  other  kind.  And  that  girl  in  Bay  of  Islands 
— 'twas  of  her  they  sang: 

"  I  know  a  girl  in  Calinore, 
Vessels  sail  right  by  her  door ; 
She  has  sweethearts  by  the  score, 
Never  a  lock  on  her  front  door !" 

And  the  whole  fleet  would  laugh  when  her  name 

240 


The  Ice-Dogs 

was  mentioned.  But  let  that  pass.  She  had  a 
kind  word  and  a  warm  heart,  and  she'd  kissed  him 
leaving,  and  said,  "Take  good  care  of  yourself, 
b'y." 

But  if  no  good  woman — and,  after  all,  women 
weren't  the  whole  of  a  man's  life — there'd  be  good 
men  left  to  say  a  word  for  him.  If  'twould  be  no 
more  than  a  word  on  the  corner  some  windy  day, 
when,  with  heads  down,  a  couple  of  old  shipmates 
bumped  into  each  other  passing.  "So  the  Arbi- 
ter s  lost,"  one  would  say.  "Ay,  and  did  you 
know  any  of  'em.^"  "Ay,  I  did,"  the  first  one 
would  say  then.  "There  was — "  and  maybe  his 
name  would  be  mentioned,  with  a  good  word, 
too.  Or  maybe  'twould  be  when  a  couple  of  his 
old  chums  would  meet  in  some  bar-room  and,  fill- 
ing their  glasses,  one  would  say,  "Well,  that  was 
tough  on  young  Gillis,  warn't  it .? — ^went  down  on 
the  Arbiter.''  "Yes,"  the  other  might  say,  "  damn 
tough."  And  the  first  one  then,  raising  his 
glass,  would  say  softly,  "Well,  God  rest  his  soul, 
here's  to  him."  Or  better  yet — the  tears  were 
starting  in  Gillis's  eyes — perhaps  'twould  be  some 
bad  night,  in  the  forc's'le  of  some  vessel  on  the 
fishing-grounds,  on  the  Western  Banks  or  on  Flem- 
ish Cap,  or  wherever  it  was,  maybe  'twould  be  his 
old  dorymate.  Alec  Corning — next  to  Leary  the 
man  he  liked  best.     Maybe  Alec,  coming  off  watch, 

241 


The  Ice-Dogs 

after  hauling  off  his  boots  and  oilskins,  would 
draw  out  his  pipe  for  a  little  drag  afore  he  turned 
in,  and  maybe  after  he'd  got  lighted  up  and  every- 
thing drawing — himself  setting  back  on  the  lockers 
fine  and  comfortable — he'd  remember  and  say — 
or  maybe  somebody  lying  in  a  bunk,  not  yet  asleep, 
or  the  cook,  nearly  always  awake,  would  bring  up 
his  name,  and  Alec  would  say:  "Ay,  lost  with 
Tommie  Clancy  in  the  Arbiter*  And  too  bad,  too. 
I  knew  him  well.  A  good  man  was  Arthur 
Gillis.  I  mind  we  were  dory-mates  once."  And 
maybe  Alec  would  go  on:  "Fishin'  off  Sable 
Island,  we  were  once,  oflF  the  No'theast  Bar,  in 
the  Buccaneer  with  Crump  Taylor,  and  our  dory 
was  capsized.  It  looked  bad,  I  tell  you.  Six 
hours  we  hung  on,  and" — here  maybe  Alec  would 
stretch  the  truth  a  bit  for  the  sake  of  his  old 
chum — "never  a  whimper  out  of  him;  a  young 
fellow,  too;  never  a  word  of  fear  till  the  vessel 
bore  down  and  got  us.     And  maybe " 

A  hand  shook  him.  Leary's  voice  said  some- 
thing. Gillis  looked  about.  What  was  that  ? — 
and  what  here — men's  forms  moving  around 
deck .?  He  looked  about.  The  black  vapor  was 
thinning  to  a  dirty  brown. 

Leary  poked  him  again.  "Didn't  the  skipper 
say  it  would  ?  Look ! "  he  roared ;  and  Gillis, 
looking,  saw  with  joy  what  at  another  time  would 

242 


The  Ice-Dogs 

have  chilled  his  blood.  From  out  of  the  haze  on 
their  port  bow  was  staring  a  wall  of  gray  rock. 

The  master  swung  her  away  in  time,  and  the 
danger  that  might  have  ended  their  lives  for  them 
was  forgotten  the  moment  after.  They  were 
grateful  for  the  sight  of  that  particular  cliff.  It 
served  as  a  landmark,  told  them  where  they  were. 
Cape  Ray  was  two  miles  away.  "Nothing  ofF,^' 
ordered  the  master,  and  the  Arbiter  was  headed 
a  hair-line  nearer  the  ice.  Aad  so  she  flew  on, 
giving  way  only  as  the  edge  of  the  relentless  ice- 
floe forced  her. 

A  mile  now,  a  terribly  long  mile,  and  yet  the 
Arbiter  was  flying.  Never  probably  had  she  car- 
ried her  rail  through  water  so  smoothly.  Three- 
quarters,  half  a  mile.  Shortening  surely,  but  also 
the  gap  was  narrowing,  and  time  was  whitening 
with  age  as  they  watched.  They  gathered  in 
groups  and  gambled  mentally  on  it,  knowing  well 
the  stake  in  the  gamble.  Home,  wife,  and  chil- 
dren— life — if  they  won  out;  a  booming  surf,  a 
vessel's  timbers  crunching  on  the  sharp-pointed 
rocks — and  they  didn't  need  to  be  too  fine-pointed, 
either,  to  do  the  job — themselves  crushed,  beaten, 
their  people  at  home  probably  not  knowing  it  for 
weeks,  if  they  lost! 

Would  it  be  called  two  cable-lengths  now  ^. 
W-w-well,  yes,    two    lengths — hardly   more   than 

243 


The  Ice-Dogs 

that.  But  that  gap  ahead  had  shrunk  till  the 
space  seemed  no  wider  than  the  vessel's  deck.  A 
narrow  gauntlet  for  sixteen  lives  to  run! 

A  narrow  lane  ahead  now,  no  more  than  a 
flumelike  slit  of  water  between  ice  and  rocks. 
And  down  that  roaring  flume  the  Arbiter  leaped. 
Already  detached  pieces  of  ice  were  drifting 
across  the  path,  catching  and  breaking  in  the 
jagged  points  of  the  rocks  at  the  base  of  the  cliffs. 
Stray  pieces  of  hard  ice  were  knocking  furiously 
against  the  Arbiter  s  planking,  against  even  her 
lee,  the  shore,  side. 

They  were  in  doubt  as  to  one  particular  object 
that  lay  exactly  in  their  course.  Was  it  a  piece  of 
white  rock  or  partially  submerged  ice  ?  There 
was  no  room  to  turn  out.  Rock  or  ice,  they  would 
have  to  take  it.  If  it  was  loose  ice,  well  and  good; 
if  a  rock,  well 

"Let  her  go  for  it!"  It  was  Leary  to  the 
wheel,  and  the  master  in  the  fore-rigging.  Leary's 
breath  was  coming  in  gulps.  His  eyes  were  shin- 
ing.    "Christ!  but  I  call  this  racing!" 

"Racing  sure  enough,  Sammie,  and  more  than 
money  or  a  cup  depending." 

The  Arbiter  leaped  for  the  doubtful  obstruction 
under  her  bow.     Cr-r-r-u-unch ! 

"Ice!" 

"No— rock!" 

244 


The  Ice-Dogs 

"No— ice,  by  the  Lord!" 

A  lump  of  ice  it  was ;  and  on  swept  the  Arbiter, 
with  now  the  dreaded  headland  abeam.  On,  on 
it  was  under  her  quarter.  "Go  it,  you  jade — 
you  beauty — go  it!"  One  more  long,  lo-o-n-g 
breath  and  it  was  under  her  stern. 

They  looked  back,  but  no  longer  was  a  lane 
there.  The  way  by  which  they  had  come  was 
bridged  over  by  a  crunching  mass  of  flinty  ice, 
which  was  tossed  tumultuously  as  it  came,  and, 
reaching  shore,  piled  with  tremendous  concus- 
sions against  the  sides  of  the  granite  cliffs. 

"Skipper" — from  one  who  had  been  looking 
over  the  bow — "d'y'  know  but  the  protection 
plankin'  on  her  stem's  all  chewed  up — looks  like 
a  layer  of  shredded  pine.  Skipper." 

"  So  ?  Like  some  kind  o'  breakfast-food,  heh  ? 
Well" — he  dropped  from  rail  to  deck,  and  below, 
aloft,  outboard  he  gazed — "well" — this  slowly — 
"a  good  vessel,  and  needed  all  her  oak  plankin'. 
Ay,  a  good  vessel,"  and,  hesitatingly,  as  if  it  might 
be  construed  to  mean  self-praise,  "and  a  good 
job." 

"A  damn  good  job,"  affirmed  Leary. 

But  it  was  Gillis  who  leaped  an  ecstatic  yard  into 
the  air  and,  cracking  his  heels,  emitted:  "Ain't 
we  the  dogs,  though  ?  Hah,  what,  ain't  we  ?  No 
'bituary  notices  for  us  this  time,  hah,  Sammie?" 

245 


iC 


The  Ice-Dogs 

And  now" — the  master  turned  to  the  rescued 
Newfoundlanders  —  "we'll  run  into  Port-aux- 
Basques  and  land  you.  And  when  you  get  back 
to  Bay  of  Islands  you  c'n  pass  the  word  that  we 
did  clear  the  ice,  and  then — "  He  halted  for  sheer 
weariness. 

"And  then,  Skipper.?" 

"And  then — "  Interminable  watches  had 
driven  Clancy's  eyes  far  back  into  their  sockets, 
but  the  unquenchable  light,  if  smouldering,  was 
there,  and  now  that  light  flashed  out  Hke  a  flame 
from  cavernous  depths.  "Then" — but  the  voice 
broke  and  he  could  only  whisper  it  huskily — 
"home!"  The  last  trace  of  the  iron  manner 
faded  with  the  thought,  and  over  his  face  came  a 
smile  as  soft  as  a  bread-and-buttered  baby's. 
"Home,  boy,  home!"  and  with  it  caught  the  caper- 
ing Gillis  a  playful  clout  that  sent  him  from  break 
to  house. 

They  landed  the  castaways;  and  thereafter  it 
was  no  more  than  wind,  frost,  sleet,  hail,  heavy 
seas,  smothered  decks,  and  groaning  gear — inci- 
dental hindrances  to  the  passage  of  a  hard-driven 
vessel  from  Newfoundland  to  Gloucester  in 
winter-time. 


246 


THE  AMERICANIZATION  OF 
ROLL-DOWN  JOE 


The  Americanization  of 
Roll-Down  Joe 

THE  latest  development  of  the  American  fish- 
ing schooner  came  smartly  to  anchor  in  mid- 
stream. 

From  his  perch  in  Crow's  Nest,  a  cable-length 
abeam  of  the  vessel,  but  mast-head  high  in  the 
air,  old  Peter  looked  down  on  her  with  wonder 
and  respect  commingled.  "The  biggest  mains'l 
ever  swept  past  the  Point!  Look  at  the  spread 
of  it!  Isn't  that  an  ungodly  armful  to  have  to 
gather  up  on  a  jumping  deck  in  a  gale  o'  wind  ? 
Eighty-four-foot  boom  and  fifty-two-foot  gafF! 
You  could  sweep  all  the  waters  of  the  earth  with 
all  the  search-lights  of  heaven  and  never  a  schooner 
of  her  tonnage  would  you  find  swingin'  such  a 
sail.  And  if  you  could  find  one,  where  but 
among  American  fishermen  would  you  find  a  man 
would  go  outside  a  harbor  in  so  much  as  a  sum- 
mer gale  with  that  boom  and  that  sail  above  it 
to  be  layin'  out  to  looard  of  their  rail  ? " 
"But  this  man,  Peter — he'll  carry  it.?" 
"Till  all's  blue.  Eighty-four-foot  boom!  And 
I  mind  when  they  used  to  boast  of  their  sixty- 

249 


The  Americanization 

foot  booms,  and  now  the  storm  trys'ls  of  this  one 
I  expect'll  lace  to  most  that  length.*" 

"Portugee,  ain't  he,  Peter?" 

" Portugee-born,"  amended  Peter,  "but  a  good 
American  citizen  now." 

"But  isn't  that  surprising,  Peter,  his  having 
the  best  out?" 

"Surprisin'!"  retorted  Peter.  "Meanin'  be- 
cause he's  Portugee  ?  H-m-m.  A  sensible  re- 
mark, that,  when  so  far's  any  of  us  can  learn  this 
man's  ancestors  were  sailormen — navigators  and 
world-explorers — and  a  good  many  other  things 
when  your  forefathers,  or  mine  maybe,  were  tryin' 
to  get  up  courage  to  visit  the  neighborin'  main- 
land." 

"But  people  new  to  this  country." 

"New  people!"  snorted  Peter.  "Man  alive, 
where'd  we  be  but  for  the  new  people  ?  It's  they 
puts  the  life  into  us.  While  the  descendants  of 
the  old  settlers  are  leanin'  back  in  easy-chairs, 
brains  and  bodies  all  used  up,  not  an  original  no- 
tion left  in  'em — from  overwork,  or  overworry,  or 
too  much  fat  livin',  or  whatever  'tis  that's  ailin' 
them — it's  the  new  people  are  coming  along  and 
gettin'  things  goin'  again.  Look  right  here  in 
Gloucester  now — is  it  the  new  blood,  or  the  old, 
that's  mannin'  the  fleet  ?  And  this  same  Roll- 
Down  Joe — this  Portugee  immigrant,  as  they  call 

250 


of  Roll-Down  Joe 

him — industrious,  upright,  sober,  intelHgent — as 
are  all  but  damn  few  of  his  kind  that  ever  I  see — 
he's  standin'  simply  for  one  of  the  dozen  big  na- 
tions that's  made  us  what  we  are  or  will  make  us 
what  we're  to  be." 

"But  how'd  he  get  the  name,  Peter?  Must 
be  some  story  back  of  a  name  like  that." 

"It  was  while  Joe  was  still  but  little  known  in 
Gloucester,"  began  Peter,  "but  not  so  green  that 
he  hadn't  managed  to  absorb  a  good  many  of  the 
leadin'  principles  of  the  fishin'  fleet,  that  him  and 
Wesley  Marrs  were  racin'  home  from  the  Western 
Banks  one  time,  and  after  sixty  hours  of  it  Joe 
thought  he  need:d  a  kink  of  sleep.  So  he  started 
to  go  below,  when  the  man  to  the  wheel  stopped 
him.  It  was  blowin'  hard  then,  the  Isabella 
roUin'  down  pretty  well  under  it.  'S'pose  it  gets 
worse  while  you're  below,  Skipper,  what'll  I  do  ?' 
asks  the  man  to  the  wheel. 

"*What  you  do?  Why,  keep  her  goin','  says 
Joe.     *Keep  da  Isahell  goin',  sure.' 

"'But  how  long.  Skipper?  There's  a  limit  to 
everything — how  long?' 

"Joe  studied  a  minute,  then  made  a  chalk  line 
on  the  deck  well  up  to  wind'a'd  of  the  wheel-box. 
*When  she  roll  down  to  there,  call  me,'  says  Joe, 
and  went  below. 

251 


The  Americanization 

"*Cripes!'  says  the  man  to  the  wheel;  'when 
she  rolls  down  to  there,  do  you  think  you'll  care 
whether  you're  called  or  not?' 

"Well,  I  was  the  man  to  the  wheel  that  time, 
and  when  I  got  to  Gloucester  I  told  the  story,  and 
ever  since  then  they've  called  him  Roll-Down  Joe. 
He  cert'nly  promised  even  then  to  carry  sail  with 
the  best  of  them.  And  then  he'd  been  in  the 
country  such  a  short  time  that  the  master's  papers 
had  to  be  taken  out  in  the  name  of  one  of  his 
crew — who  again  happened  to  be  me. 

"Well,  'twarn't  long  before  everybody  began  to 
take  notice  of  Joe.  Or  most  everybody,  rather,  be- 
cause there's  always  those  who  can  never  be  brought 
to  like  those  whose  ways  are  different  from  their 
own.  But  the  best  people  liked  him.  And  you 
couldn't  help  it — he  was  so  eager  to  win  your 
good-will  and  he  set  such  store  by  what  you  said, 
you  couldn't  help  but  like  him.  I  don't  know 
but  what  most  people  of  the  South  seem  to  be  like 
that,  don't  they — want  you  to  love  'em  whatever 
else  you  do.  There  was  nothing  this  man  wouldn't 
do  to  please  you.  Nat'rally  the  killers  began  to 
take  to  him,  and  nat'rally,  too,  what  they  said 
was  law  to  Joe.  That  was  about  the  time  when 
nothing  'd  do  the  killers  but  Oregon  pine  spars. 
Joe's  were  Georgia  pine.  'What  you  want,  Joe, 
is   Oregon   pine   sticks,"    says  Wesley    Marrs   to 

252 


of  Roll-Down  Joe 

him  one  day,  and  went  on  to  explain  what  beauti- 
ful implements  his  own  were. 

"Joe  grew  excited.  *I  get  dem,'  he  says. 
*  How  mooch  they  costa — what  ?  Fi'  hundred 
dollar  ?  No  matt',  I  get  dem,'  says  Joe.  *  Fi' 
hundred,  one  thousand — no  matt',  I  get  dem.  I 
wanta  da  ver'  best.' 

"*  That's  right,  Joe — the  best  is  none  too  good 
for  you  and  me,'  says  Wesley;  *but  don't  go  throw- 
ing away  any  five  hundred  dollars  foolish.  Wait 
some  day  till  you're  out  to  sea  and  consult  your 
almanac,  Joe,  and  when  them  zodiac  signs  indi- 
cate a  good  breeze  o'  wind  and  a  handy  harbor, 
in  conjunction,  then  do  you  slap  everything  you 
got  to  her,  and — who  knows  ? — it  may  be  your 
lucky  day,  and  maybe  them  spars  '11  just  nach'ally 
sag  over  the  side  o'  themselves,'  advises  Wesley. 

"Joe  looked  puzzled. 

"*The  insurance  company  '11  have  to  pay  for 
'em  then,'  explains  Wesley. 

"*Ah-h,  da  American  way!  Ver'  good,  ver' 
good,'  shouted  Joe,  and  a  week  later,  in  a  howlin' 
gale  of  wind,  he  sailed  the  Isabella  back  and  forth 
off  Halifax  tryin'  to  lift  the  masts  out  of  her. 
But  they  were  fine  stout  sticks  and  though  they 
buckled  like  umbrella  ribs  they  just  wouldn't 
come  out,  so  Joe  went  on  the  east'ard  with  the  old 
sticks.     But  when  next  he  met  Wesley  he  apolo- 

253 


The  Americanization 

gized  for  not  doing  better.  *  May-bee  ten  ton 
more  bal-last  and  a  leet'  more  win'  next  time  an' 
I  do  eet/  he  said  to  Wesley. 

"Well,  Joe,  bringin'  home  the  fish  reg'larly 
as  he  did,  was  makin*  a  name  for  himself  among 
the  fishermen.  And  doin'  his  best  to  live  up  to  it, 
too.  'Twarn't  long  before  he  got  to  where  he 
shifted  his  drink  from  port  wine  to  whiskey,  and 
could  smoke  fifteen-cent  cigars  on  the  curb- 
stone like  any  American-born.  Along  about  there 
he  came  to  me  one  day  and  said,  *  Peter,  I  moost 
be  one  ceet-zen,  one  American  ceet-zen.'  So  I 
steered  him  up  to  City  Hall,  up  to  the  proper  grat- 
ing in  the  proper  room  where  was  a  clerk,  who, 
after  he'd  finished  puttin'  just  the  exact  point  on 
his  pencil  and  had  manicured  his  nails  once  or 
twice  again — and  it  didn't  take  him  any  longer 
to  do  it  than  it  would  take  an  average  trawler  to 
bait  a  six-line  string  of  gear — he  has  time  for  us. 
I  explained  what  Joe  was  after  and  Joe  told  his 
name,  a  good  old  Portuguese  name,  too;  but  it 
didn't  seem  to  hit  the  fancy  of  this  lad  in  the  cage. 

"*Do  you  expect  me  to  spell  or  pronounce  a 
name  Hke  that  ?  Wonder  you  wouldn't  take  some 
good  local  name.' 

"  Joe  was  a  bit  cast  down — he  had  a  bit  of  senti- 
ment about  hi^  name.  But  he  was  bound  to  be 
an  American  citizen,   and  thought  if  change  of 

254 


of  Roll-Down  Joe 

name  was  part  of  it,  why  he'd  change  his  name. 
So  he  tried  to  think  of  a  good  American  name  and, 
recollectin'  some  of  his  skipper  friends,  *Ah-h, 
yess,  yess — O'Don-nell,  Tom  O'Don-nell,'  he  says. 

"*W-r-r-h,'  says  the  clerk.  'Look  out  the 
window  at  those  signs  across  the  street.' 

"Joe  looked,  with  an  eye  all  the  time  for  the 
fine  big  letters,  and  picked  out  the  biggest  sign 
in  sight.     It  read: 

BURNHAM 

COAL  AND  WOOD 

The  Burnham  part  of  it  was  only  of  moderate 
size,  while  the  *Coal  and  Wood'  was  in  six-foot 
letters  up  and  down  so  you  couldn't  go  astray. 
The  coal  part,  happenin'  to  be  to  wind'ard,  Joe 
picked  that  out  for  his,  and,  after  carefully  copyin' 
it  onto  a  piece  of  paper  like  a  sign-painter,  brought 
it  to  the  clerk.  'One  good  American  name,  hah  .?' 
he  says. 

"'That's  better,'  says  the  clerk,  who,  by  the 
way,  warn't  throwin'  any  dazzlin'  reflections  from 
any  partic'larly  bright  side  of  his  intelligence. 
*But  a  wonder  you  wouldn't  spell  it  right,'  says 
he.  *C-o-l-e  it  should  be,'  and  made  out  a  paper 
for  Joseph  Cole,  native  of  St.  Michaels,  Azores 
Islands,   Portugal,   and " 

Peter,  happening  to  glance  out  to  where  the 

255 


The  Americanization 

talkative,  gesticulating,  but  active  and  efficient 
dark-bearded  men  were  putting  the  great  main- 
sail in  stops,  came  to  a  pause.  Presently,  his 
eyes  twinkling,  he  resumed:  "And  I  s'pose  that  a 
couple  of  hundred  years  from  now  the  genealogy 
sharks  will  be  diggin'  up  a  fine  Anglo-Saxon  pedi- 
gree for  Joe's  descendants,  if  it  happens  they  want 
to  get  into  one  of  those  Who's  Who  societies  we 
read  about  in  the  papers,  as  all  the  time  guaran- 
teein'  which  is  the  sure-enough  thing.  Joe's  de- 
scendants— and  they'll  probably  be  numerous, 
for  he's  got  seven  children  of  his  own  already — 
they'll  probably  discover  some  day  that  they're 
descended  from  some  fine  old  Northumberland 
family,  so  named  because  of  the  coal-mining 
properties  they  owned,  or  maybe  the  pedigree  ex- 
perts will  tell  them  they  were  so  named  because  of 
their  dark  complexions. 

"Well,  Joe  kept  comin'.  I  saw  him  one  night 
playin'  duplicate  whist  in  the  Master  Mariners' 
rooms,  and  he  most  burstin'  with  the  things  he 
wanted  to  say  but  couldn't,  because  some  good 
friends  told  him  'twas  against  the  rules  to  talk 
while  you  were  playing  whist,  though  everybody 
was  talkin'  around  him.  Says  I,  that's  sure  the 
finishin'  touch.  But  it  warn't.  He  didn't  put 
on  the  last  little  rag  polish  to  his  Americanization 
till  about  the  time  he  was  expectin'  his  final  natur- 

256 


of  Roll-Down  Joe 

alization  papers,  the  papers  thatMgive  him  the  right 
to  vote.  He  was  haddockin'  in  South  Channel 
then,  market-fishin'  into  Boston.  And  that's  the 
devil's  own  fishin',  let  me  tell  you — night  and  day, 
rain  or  shine,  till  you  fill  her  up — with  those  old- 
country  fishermen,  Dungarven,  Claddagh  and 
Kincaid  men  to  set  the  pace.  You  need  to  be  an 
iron  man  to  stand  it.  And  their  everlastin'  racin' 
to  market!  For  whoever  hits  the  Boston  market 
right  in  haddockin'  he's  sure  the  boy  that  shares 
big,  and  blessed  little  if  you  don't  hit  it  right,  for 
those  Boston  dealers  they  cert'nly  want  it  all. 

"So  the  competition  there  is  pretty  keen,  as  you 
know,  and  nobody  was  any  keener  than  Joe  Cole 
to  hold  his  own.  We'd  been  hove-to  under  our 
fores'l  for  eight  days  waitin'  for  it  to  moderate  so's 
we  could  get  a  chance  to  fish.  A  Tuesday  morn- 
ing that  was,  and  not  a  vessel  in  the  fleet,  we  felt 
sure,  had  a  pound  of  fish  in  her  hold.  But  such 
fishin'  when  he  did  shove  the  dories  over!  They 
must  have  been  fair  starved  out  down  below, 
waitin'  with  their  mouths  open,  and  just  over  the 
right  spot  we  must  have  been,  for  it  was  a  fish  to 
every  hook.  Next  morning  at  five  o'clock  there 
was  sixty  thousand  of  fish  iced  below  or  ready  to 
dress  on  deck.  *Sweeng  her  off,'  says  Joe,  *an' 
we  mak'  da  market  dees  aft'noon.'  'Twas  in 
Lent,  and  Joe  could  hardly  hold  himself  when  he 

257 


The  Americanization 

thought  of  it.  *We  ketcha  da  market  dry/  says 
Joe,  *mak'  plenta  mon-ee  dees  trip,  you  see.' 

"And  the  scheme  did  look  good.  It  didn't 
seem  possible  that  any  vessel  could  have  loaded 
up  as  fast  as  we  did,  and  if  we  could  get  home  that 
day,  which  seemed  likely — a  great  sailin'  breeze, 
with  no  more  than  a  hundred  and  thirty-odd  miles 
to  the  dock  and  twelve  hours  to  do  it  in — it  looked 
good.  And  of  course  if  it  was  a  fish  famine  after 
that  long  spell  of  bad  weather,  we  cert'nly  were  in 
for  a  big  share. 

"  So  off  we  went,  across  the  channel  and  up  by 
Cape  Cod  in  good  shape.  And  with  the  wind 
making  all  the  time,  we  straightened  out  for  a 
run  across  the  bay  in  fine  spirits.  Nothing,  we 
thought  then,  could  stop  her  from  gettin'  to  T 
wharf,  with  hours  to  spare,  nothing  short  of  dis- 
mastin',  and  they  bein'  those  same  good  old 
Georgia  pine  sticks  that  Joe  had  tried  so  hard  to 
carry  away  off  Halifax,  we  had  no  fear  of  that. 

"We  were  belting  along  then,  not  ten  miles 
from  the  lightship,  the  vessel  hikin'  everlastingly 
and  the  gang  already  spendin'  their  money — a 
couple  up  to  the  Boston  Theatre;  another  look- 
ing over  the  bank-book  with  his  wife — who'd  just 
cortie  back  from  depositin'  forty  dollars  in  the 
savings-bank,  and  that  made  three  hundred  and 
twenty-nine  dollars  and  fourteen  cents,  not  count- 

258 


of  Roll-Down  Joe 

in'  interest  due  but  not  yet  entered;  another  chap 
was  being  measured  for  a  nine-dollar  pair  o' 
pants,  the  only  thing  worryin*  him  was  would  he 
have  a  blue  seam — when  came  a  squall  that 
struck  us  fair.  Over  she  went,  with  most  of  her 
deck  under  water.  And  stayed  there  for  a  while. 
But  she  was  all  right,  she  didn't  quite  capsize; 
only  when  she  did  come  up  we  had  to  break  out 
her  topside  plankin'  with  hand-spikes,  so's  the 
water  could  run  off  her  deck  before  we  could 
get  her  goin'  again. 

"And  that  would  've  been  all  right,  only  away 
up  to  windward  ten  miles  or  more — we  could  just 
make  her  out — was  a  three-masted  schooner 
hove-down.  Only  different  from  us,  she  showed 
no  signs  of  coming  up.  Well,  there  was  nothing 
to  it  but  go  up  to  her.  And  maybe  Joe  didn't 
look  back  longin'ly  at  the  lightship  when  we 
wore  'round. 

"It  must  have  taken  us  two  hours  to  beat  up — 
not  much  sea,  but  wind  somethin'  desp'rate — 
and  when  we  got  alongside  we  had  to  be  everlast- 
in'ly  careful  in  takin'  them  off,  and  particularly 
careful  with  one  gent,  a  passenger,  who  turned 
out  to  be  her  owner.  He'd  been  takin'  a  cruise 
along  the  coast  in  this  vessel  of  his.  A  big,  fine- 
lookin',  rosy  chap,  though  not  too  rosy  when  we 
took  him  off;  but  a  pretty  decent  kind,  except 

259 


The  Americanization 

that  when  he  got  his  courage  back  he  developed 
into  one  of  those  patronizin'  kind  that  get  on  your 
nerves,  the  kind  that  look  you  over  and  think  be- 
cause you  hustle  for  a  livin'  you  must  have  lost 
any  nat'ral  intelligence  you  ever  had,  if  ever  you 
had  any.  You  know — one  of  those  *my  good 
man'  kind  of  chaps. 

"*ril  do  something  handsome  for  you,  you'll 
see,'  he  says  to  Joe.  This  was  after  we'd  got  him 
dried  out  and  the  rosy  color  came  into  his  face 
again.  And  pats  Joe  on  the  back,  which  Joe 
didn't  quite  like,  comin'  from  a  stranger;  but 
you  have  to  make  allowances  for  a  man  whose 
life  you've  just  saved,  though  just  then  Joe 
warn't  payin'  too  much  attention  to  this  lad's 
speeches.  Joe  was  mostly  worryin'  would  he  get 
to  T  wharf  before  five  o'clock  that  afternoon 
or  not. 

"Well,  we  didn't  get  there.  The  market  had 
been  closed  ten  minutes  when  we  dove  into  the 
slip.  And  you  would  'a'  had  to  sympathize 
with  the  skipper  if  you'd  seen  him  sittin'  on  the 
cap-log  fannin'  himself  with  his  sou'wester.  He 
was  downcast  sure  enough.  'Haddock  seex  centa 
an'  da  cod  eight  centa  da  poun'.  Dees  trip  good 
for  four  t'ousan'  dollar  if  we  been  in  one  leet'  half 
hour  ago.' 

"  Knowin'  just  how  he  felt,  I  tried  hard  to  cheer 
260 


of  Roll-Down  Joe 

him  up.  *It  may  be  even  higher  in  the  morning, 
Skipper/  I  said.  *  If  no  other  vessel  comes  in  it's 
sure  to/  I  goes  on,  *for  with  a  Friday  in  Lent 
ahead  of  them  they  got  to  have  the  fish  to  fill 
the  orders.  And  if  it  is.  Skipper,  you'll  have  a 
market  trip  stock  that'll  go  down  to  posterity.' 

"Just  to  think  of  it  made  him  smile — if  nobody 
came  in  during  the  night!" 

Peter  stopped  short  and  began  to  laugh  softly. 
"I  have  to  every  time  I  think  of  it." 

"What  was  it,  Peter — nobody  in?" 

Peter  roared.  "Nobody  in!  Next  mornin' 
there  were  thirty-five  haddockers  into  the  dock. 
You  couldn't  see  the  harbor  for  masts  and  trys'ls 
hung  up  to  dry.  And  fish!  1,364,589  pounds  of 
fish  to  the  dock  that  day.  I  remember  the  figures 
well,  the  record  day  of  that  year,  and  from  eight 
and  six  cents  a  pound  cod  dropped  to  two  and  a 
quarter  and  haddock  to  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  a 
hundred.  Instead  of  stockin'  four  thousand  we 
stocked  less  than  nine  hundred  dollars.  Instead 
of  the  crew  sharing  a  hundred  and  fifty  or  sixty 
dollars  apiece,  we  shared  twenty-six  dollars  and 
twenty-three  cents  apiece  for  our  two  weeks  of  a 
winter  trip. 

"Well,  you  oughter  seen  Joe.  *Dam!'  says  he. 
Dam  again  all  coasta-men  that  can-not  han-del 
a  ves-sel!     Dam!     T'ree  t'ousan'  dollar   lost  for 

261 


The  Americanization 

one  leet'  squall!     Dam!  dam!  dam!Vin  little  ex- 
plosions like  a  gasolene  engine  around  deck. 

'*That  same  afternoon  Joe's  final  papers  came 
to  him,  and  he  went  up  to  an  Atlantic  Avenue 
hotel  with  Wesley  Marrs  and  Tom  O'Donnell, 
his  two  great  models,  to  look  them  over.  They'd 
hardly  gone  when  the  owner  he'd  rescued  from  the 
three-master  came  down  the  dock  lookin'  for  the 
skipper. 

"He  was  rosy  as  any  apple  with  good  humor 
and  impatience,  so  I  brought  him  up  to  the  hotel. 
He  pounced  on  Joe.  *Ha,  I've  found  you!  I've 
been  up  and  down  the  dock  looking  for  you,  as 
this  man' — meanin'  me — *will  tell  you.  You  did 
me  a  good  turn  yesterday — good  seamanship  and 
a  good  spirit  displayed.  And  I  know  that  you 
must  have  lost  some  time  in  doing  it.  Now,  now. 
I  kept  track — three  hours  or  more  it  must  have 
been,  and  you  shall  be  reimbursed — paid — and 
paid  well  for  it.' 

"Joe  raised  his  hand,  palm  out,  protestin'. 
*No,  no.    For  sav-ving  life  we  can  tak'  no  mon-ee.' 

"*Now,  now.  I  did  not  say  this  was  for  saving 
life.'  And  the  smile  of  him!  You'd  think  Joe 
was  some  three-year  old  child  he  was  talkin'  to. 
'No,  not  for  saving  life — allow  me' — he  goes  on — 
'but  for  the  time  lost  in  saving  Hfe — for  the  time 
lost/ 

262 


of  Roll-Down  Joe 

"*For  da  time  lost  in  sav-ving  life  I  tak'  no 
mon-ee/  repeats  Joe. 

"*But  you  must,  Captain.  You  really  must 
let  me  have  my  way.  And  I  will  split  no  hairs 
over  it.  You  and  your  men  work  hard,  and  your 
rewards,  I  know,  are  not  great.  Three  hours 
for  twenty-four  men — how  will  that  do  ? '  and  he 
held  out  some  bills. 

"'What  ees  it.?'  said  Joe. 

"'Why,'  said  the  rescued  chap,  'American 
money — a  hundred  dollars.  See,  five  twenties. 
Now  in  the  country  where  you  come  from ' 

"*Yess,'  interrupted  Joe,  'in  da  countree 
where  I  come  from  a  hund'ed  dollar  is  mooch 
mon-ee,  ver'  mooch.  But  dere  also  we  tak'  no 
mon-ee — not  for  sav-ving  life.' 

" '  But  you  must,'  said  this  chap,  and  forced  the 
bills  into  Joe's  hands. 

"  Joe  looked  at  them  as  if  he  had  never  seen  a 
twenty-dollar  bill  in  his  life  before.  'My,  such 
a  heap!'  he  says  after  a  little  study,  and  held 
them  up  for  Marrs  and  O'Donnell  to  look  at,  and 
after  they'd  had  a  look  he  crumpled  them  up  in 
his  fist,  and  then,  straightening  them  out  again 
and  in  the  most  absent-minded  way  in  the  world 
he  reached  over  to  the  little  alcohol  lamp  at  the 
end  of  the  bar,  stuck  one  of  them  into  the  flame, 
and  with  it  lit  his  cigar. 

263 


The  Americanization 

"The  passenger  jumped  a  yard  into  the  air. 
'My  God!'  he  shrieked,  *what  are  you  doing?' 

"'What  ees?'  says  Joe,  surprised-Uke,  at  the 
same  time  stampin'  what  was  left  of  the  bill  to 
ashes  under  his  toe,  and  only  then  seemin'  to 
take  notice  of  what  he  had  done.  *Ah,  ah.  I 
burn  da  mon-ee  ?  What  a  mistak',  sooch  a  mis- 
tak',  ver'  foolish.  My  brain  it  ees,  what  you 
say .?  bis-ee  But  I  will  mak'  a'  right,'  and  diving 
into  his  jeans  he  pulled  out  a  great  wad  of  bills, 
from  which  he  took  a  twenty  and  handed  it  with 
the  other  four  bills  to  the  passenger.  The  passen- 
ger drew  back. 

"*You  do  not  weesh  to  tak'?'  says  Joe. 

"*It  is  for  you.  Captain,  and  then  the  men, 
your  crew ' 

"*Ah-h,  for  da  crew.?'  and  turned  to  where  I 
was  standing.  'Here,  Peter,  tak'  dis  mon-ee, 
dees  fine  gentla-man  geev,  an'  buy  see-gar,  good 
see-gar,  min'  you.  See-gar — er,  no,  see-gar-ette 
for  da  gang,'  and  tossed  the  hundred  dollars  over 
to  me. 

"By  this  time  the  passenger  was  making  all 
kinds  of  queer  faces.  'Have  some  drink.?'  asked 
Joe  politely.  And  the  man,  kind  of  dazed  still, 
said  he  guessed  he'd  take  a  little  whiskey  and 
soda. 

"'P-s-s-t!"  said  Joe.  His  mustache  curled 
264 


of  Roll-Down  Joe 

and  his  earrings  almost  tinkled.  *Whis-key  an' 
so-da!  Dees  no  gang  cheapa  sport.  Dees  here 
Capta*  Tom  O'Don-nell,  dees  Capta'  Wesley 
Marrs.'  Then,  rapping  on  the  bar,  Joe  ordered 
the  bartender  to  bring  on  a  quart  of  the  fizzy 
stuff,  and  after  that  another  quart,  and  on  top  of 
that  another,  and  was  ordering  another — all  in  a 
rush — and  had  spread  out  on  the  bar  the  papers 
that  made  him  an  American  citizen,  to  call  the 
man's  attention  to  them,  when  he  flew  out  the 
door.  *Ah-h,'  said  Joe  sadly,  'an'  I  wanta  heem 
to  see  dese — what  you  call  heem,  dat  long  word, 
Tom.?' 

"*Naturali-zation  papers,  naturali-zation,  and 
say  it  slow,  Joe.' 

"'Ah-h,  yess — what  eet  ees  you  say,  Tom,  what 
geev  me  vote — dat  right  ? ' 

"'That's  right,  Joe,  and  'twas  treason  to  keep 
you  waitin'.  You  ought  to  been  votin'  the  day 
you  hit  the  country,  Joe.' 

"Joe  smiled.  'Anny-way,  a  good  ceet-zen  now, 
hah,  Tom — a  good  American  ceet-zen  Joe  Cole 
now,  hah,  Wes-ley .? ' 

"'That's  what,'  says  Wesley.  'And  the  way 
you  tossed  that  hundred  to  Peter,  Joe,  it  was  noth- 
ing less  than — how  is  it  they  say  it  in  the  theatre, 
Tom.?' 

" '  Soo-per-r-b  is  the  word,  Wesley.  With  a 
265 


The  Americanization 

gesture  of  sooperb  contimpt,  is  the  words  they 
use.' 

"*Ah-h,'  said  Joe,  and  reached  for  the  fourth 
quart.     *We  dreenk  to  one  new  American  ceet-zen, 

Joe  Cole!     M-m '  he  drew  in  his  breath  Hke 

a  child^ — *and  ah-h,  it  tak'  us  to  show  dem  da 
true  American  way.  Hah,  Tom .?  Ha,  Wes- 
ley.?'" 

Peter  had  risen  to  mark  on  the  blackboard  the 
names  of  vessel  and  master,  but,  with  chalk  in 
air,  he  paused.  "And  I  say  with  O'Donnell  and 
Wesley,  'tisn't  the  len'th  of  time  a  man's  been  in 
the  country  that  makes  a  citizen  of  him.  Joe 
was  of  more  use  to  the  country  the  first  day  he 
set  foot  on  an  American  dock,  of  more  use  than 
many  who'd  vote  to  keep  him  out,  of  more  use 
than  many  that's  got  ancestral  halls  and  don't 
see  anything  right  in  the  country  nowadays,  but 
who  wouldn't  themselves  lose  a  night's  sleep  or 
the  nail  off  a  finger  to  make  it  right.  Those  others 
talk;  but  Joe's  kind,  whether  he's  Squarehead  or 
Dutch,  Polak  or  Dago,  whatever  he  is — his  is  the 
kind  that's  always  been  throwin'  a  halo  round 
the  people  and  the  institutions  of  the  country  he 
adopts.  Joe's  kind,  that  don't  half  the  time 
know  whether  his  country  is  right  or  wrong,  and 
don't  half  the  time  care,  is  the  kind  that  since 

266 


of  Roll-Down  Joe 

nations  were  nations  has  gone  out  and  died  for 
the  flag  that's  over  them.  And  made  but  Httle 
fuss  about  it.  And  the  horizon,  you'll  take  notice, 
is  blotted  out  with  but  few  monuments  to  the 
memory  of  that  kind." 

Carefully  Peter  was  writing  it  down — "Schooner 
Bonita,  master  Joseph  Cole,"  when — "  But,  Peter, 
did  you  really  buy  cigars  for  the  money .?" 

The  wrinkles  spread  from  the  corner  of  Peter's 
mouth  till  they  reached  to  under  his  ears.  "H-m 
— ^well,  not  for  the  whole  hundred.  But  let  me 
tell  you,  boy,  what  cigars  we  did  smoke  that  day 
— they  were  cert'nly  a  damn  swell  brand." 


267 


THE  HARSH  WORD 


The  Harsh  Word 

MARTIN  CARR  had  come  forward  for  his 
usual  mug-up  before  turning  in.  Piling 
down  after  him  came  his  bunk-mate,  almost  his 
shadow,  little  Eddie  Foy.  "M-m — but  it's  some 
cold  on  deck!"  ejaculated  Eddie,  ere  yet  his  feet 
hit  the  forec's'le  floor. 

"Yes,"  assented  Martin,  taking  a  coffee  mug 
from  off  a  nail  in  the  grub-locker  the  meanwhile, 
"yes,  a  man  astray  to-night  in  a  dory  he'll  cer- 
t'nly  thrash  his  arms  across  his  breast  afore 
mornin'."  And  then  directing  his  voice  toward 
the  cook,  "Louder,  boy,  louder." 

For  a  New  Year's  gift  somebody  had  given  the 
cook  an  advertising  calendar,  one  of  those  thick 
pad-like  affairs  with  each  date  in  large  numerals 
on  a  separate  sheet,  at  the  foot  of  which  in  small 
type  were  various  praiseworthy  sentiments.  It 
was  from  these  that  the  cook,  in  an  almost  inaudible 
voice,  was  reading.  As  he  finished  one  he  would 
tear  it  off  with  a  flourish  and  pass  on  to  the  next. 
Martin,  now  leisurely  pouring  the  hot  coffee  from 
the  boiler  on  the  stove,  added,  "Louder,  CharHe, 
louder.     Let's  all  hear." 

271 


!The  Harsh  WorcT 

"Ah-h — to  hell  with  'em!"  suddenly  exploded 
the  cook.  "Look,  Martin — ^you  can't  have  two 
days  runnin'  of  them,  the  things  worth  readin', 
and  gran'  sayin's  some  of  them  be,  when  the 
third  day'U  come  a  lot  of  stuff  about  their  otter- 
mobiles.  People  who'd  play  that  on  you  will 
make  machines,  I'll  bet,  that'd  break  down  just 
when  you  was  countin'  most  on  'em — goin'  down 
a  steep  hill  or  maybe  with  a  gully  a  thousand 
fathom  deep  to  your  rail." 

"Mind  a  man  of  the  weather,  wouldn't  it.?" 
put  in  Eddie  Foy,  "which'll  come  along  fair  and 
promisin'  for  a  few  days,  till  you  come  to  put 
trust  in  it,  and  then  one  day  you  get  caught 
out " 

"G-g-g — "  gasped  the  cook — "G-g-g — "  and 
took  to  tearing  off  the  sheets  rapidly.  "Two, 
three,  four — who  the  hell  wants  to  hear  about  their 
old  machines  ? — nine,  ten,  e-leven.  I  s'pose  I 
might's  well  set  it  for  t'morrer.  There — twelve. 
Feb'uary  the  twelfth." 

"Hah?"  Martin,  who  had  seated  himself  in 
neighborly  fashion  on  the  locker  next  the  cook's 
bunk,  now  slewed  his  body  half  around  to  take 
heed  of  the  cook.  "The  twelfth,  did  y'  say, 
Charlie  .f"'  and  after  peering  into  the  bunk  to  see 
for  himself,  said  softly.  "  Sure  enough,  the  twelfth," 
And  yet  more  softly,  gazing  abstractedly  into  his 

272 


The  Harsh  Word 

but  half-consumed  mug  of  coffee  while  he  spoke, 
"February  the  twelfth — a  year  to-morrow,"  and, 
turning  to  his  chum,  "D'y'  mind  it,  Eddie?" 

Eddie  looked  in  puzzlement  at  Martin,  and  then, 
he,  too,  recollecting,  with  tender  tone  answered, 
"Aye,  Martin,  so  'tis — a  year  to-morrow.  Poor 
Bushie!" 

There  were  those  to  whom  the  whole  truth  was 
not  known,  and  so  the  story  told  this  winter's 
night  by  Martin  Carr  in  the  brightness  and  warmth 
of  the  schooner's  forec's'le. 

"A  boy  to  love  was  Bushie;  but  from  that  very 
first  summer  trip  he  made  he  did  things  that'd 
go  to  show  he  was  never  intended  for  a  fisher- 
man. 'Twasn't  alone  that  matter  of  the  sword- 
fish.  That  was  when  we  were  single-dory  trawl- 
ing on  Le  Have,  and  there  was  Bushie  all  by  him- 
self, nobody  to  advise  him,  when  he  runs  foul  of 
this  great  creature — ^just  got  a  peek  at  him  when 
down  he  goes,  half  a  tub  of  trawls  tangled  up  with 
him,  and  Lord  knows  how  many  fathom  down, 
before  Bushie's  waked  up  to  it  he's  hooked  any- 
thing at  all.  And  then  Bushie,  poor  boy,  never 
any  great  hand  with  an  oar,  sets  out  to  tow  him 
to  the  vessel  two  miles  against  wind  and  tide — for 
hours  we  c'd  see  him  comin',  and  while  he  was 
yet  a  cable's  length  away  we  could  hear  him  hol- 

273 


The  Harsh  Word 

lerin'.  'The  taykle — the  taykle!"  he  kept  yellin'. 
*What  is  it?'  we  called  out.  *A  sword-fish/  he 
answers.  *I  see  the  twin  fins  of  him — a  monster 
— all  of  a  thousand  pound.  A  good  afternoon's 
work — sword-fish  ten  cents  a  pound  when  we  left 
home — the  taykle!  the  taykle!"  and  such  pride 
was  there  in  his  face  and  voice  that  'twas  a  .joy 
just  to  look  and  Hsten  to  him.  And  when  he 
come  alongside  we  put  the  dory  tackle  to  the 
tangled  trawls  and  begins  to  hoist,  and  sure 
enough,  up  comes  something  nigh  as  long  as  a 
dory.  But  when  the  gang  gets  a  fair  look  at  what 
it  was! 

"  *A  sword-fish ! '  says  one.  'A  sword-fish ! '  roars 
another.  And  tbe  skipper — 'He  cert'nly  looks  to 
weigh  a  thousand  pounds,'  says  the  skipper,  'but 
we  won't  stop  to  weigh  him.'  And  everyone  that 
could  grabs  a  fork  or  a  gaflF  or  a  deck-broom  and 
begins  to  welt  that  sword-fish  over  the  nose.  A 
sword-fish .?  No;  but  as  ugly  a  hammer-headed 
shark  as  ever  a  man  laid  eyes  on,  and  poor  Bushie 
hadn't  a  word  to  say,  but  stood  by  with  tears  'most 
in  his  eyes,  while  the  gang  walloped  his  prize  till 
they  were  tired. 

"Bushie  was  the  kind  that  took  Httle  things 
like  that  to  heart,  and  some  of  'em  poked  so  much 
fun  at  him,  especially  two  chaps,  Addicks  and 
Indry,  that  he  didn't  follow  up  that  first  trip  on 

274 


The  Harsh  Word 

the  Cygnet.  And  it  was  six  months  or  more  again 
before  we,  or  most  of  us,  anyway,  saw  him  again, 
and  then  it  was  plain  what  was  drivin'  him.  He 
was  starvin',  for  in  the  cold  weather,  d'  y'  see, 
there  wasn't  so  much  doin'  for  Bushie  around  the 
docks,  and  so  one  day  he  came  down  to  our  ves- 
sel— he'd  heard  we  were  a  man  short — got  his 
courage  up  and  came  down,  summer  underclothes 
still  on  him,  to  see  if  he  could  get  a  chance  on  the 
Cygnet.  Poor  boy,  his  stomach  was  bending  in 
for  the  want  of  good  food,  and  his  teeth  were 
clicking  with  the  cold.  Well,  he  didn't  get  an 
over  and  above  average  encouragement,  every- 
body knowin'  what  a  poor  hand  he  was  in  a  dory; 
and  there  was  this  Addicks  'specially  that  couldn't 
abide  him  at  all.  'H-m,'  he  says,  *the  lad  that 
caught  the  sword-fish.  Give  him  a  chance  ? 
Why,  he's  about  as  much  use  as  a  passenger. 
Maybe  he'll  get  another  sword-fish  and  be  roaring, 
"The  taykle!  the  taykle!"  again.  "All  of  a 
thousand  pound;  I  see  the  twin  fins  of  him!'"  and 
Addicks  starts  to  roarin',  and  everybody  roars. 
And  yet  'twarn't  so  black  a  mark  against  a  green 
man. 

"*Well,'  the  skipper  says,  'what  d'  y'  think, 
Martin.?'  and  I  said — God  forgive  me,  now,  but 
I  meant  well — I  says,  *  Give  the  poor  boy  a  chance,' 
and   the   skipper,   a   good-hearted   man,   after   a 

275 


The  Harsh  Word 

while  said:  'All  right;  get  your  bag  and  come 
aboard/  but  he  jumped  aboard  as  he  was.  Bag  ? 
He  didn't  have  a  second  shirt  to  his  back.  Of 
course  we  helped  him  out — one  a  shirt,  another 
drawers;  here  a  pair  of  mitts,  and  there  an  oil- 
skin. But  when  he  was  all  fitted  out  he  lacked  a 
lot  of  bein'  properly  rigged  for  winter  fishin' ! 

"Now,  there  was  a  little  something  else  behind 
Addicks  and  Indry's  opposition,  only  it  didn't 
come  out  till  later.  This  lad,  Bushie,  you  see, 
had  the  most  takin'  way  with  him.  You'd  laugh 
at  him  and  you'd  lecture  him,  but  you  couldn't 
help  likin'  him.  The  girls,  'specially,  took  the 
greatest  fancy  to  him.  And  that  was  the  case 
with  a  couple  that  Indry  and  Addicks  had  been 
tryin'  to  get  to  wind'ard  of  for  a  long  time.  Ad- 
dicks and  Indry  'd  be  makin'  great  headway  with 
'em  till  Bushie  'd  come  along,  and  then  'twould 
be  all  off.  The  girls  'd  forget  that  the  other  two 
was  in  the  room  at  all.  And  how  do  I  account 
for  that .?  Well,  in  the  case  of  Addicks  and  his 
partner  'twas  easy  enough.  They  were  hard  as 
flint,  always  lookin'  for  the  best  of  it. 

"Well,  on  the  run  out  to  the  grounds  this  trip 
Bushie  he  cert'nly  won  everybody's  heart.  That's 
after  he  got  two  or  three  good  meals  into  him. 
He'd  coil  up  in  his  bunk  of  an  evenin',  about  the 
time  everybody  'd  be  feelin'  rested  and  contented, 

276 


The  Harsh  Word 

and  in  the  right  mood  for  it,  and  he'd  get  out 
his  little  harmonica,  And  man!  maybe'd  there'd 
be  an  easterly  swishin'  and  across-sea  poundin', 
and  maybe  on  deck  'twould  he  half  a  foot  of  snow, 
and  the  watch  slushin'  around  in  it,  wearin'  their 
eyes  out  tryin'  to  see  into  what  mortal  eyes  weren't 
meant  to  see  into,  and  maybe  we  c'd  hear  'em 
call  out  from  one  to  the  other.  But  Bushie  he'd 
cuddle  that  Httle  mouth-organ  in  the  palm  and 
fingers  of  his  left  hand,  and  the  palm  and  fingers 
of  his  right  hand  he'd  coil  around  on  the  outside 
of  them  again,  like  he  was  afraid  somebody  was 
goin'  to  steal  it  from  him,  and  he'd  curl  his  lips 
around  the  music  side  of  it,  and  then,  his  shoulders 
hunched  and  his  head  to  one  side,  he'd  begin. 
And  in  five  minutes  you'd  forget  all  about  a  no'th- 
easter,  another  five  and  you  couldn't  'a'  said 
whether  you  were  to  sea  or  in  a  duck-pond.  Five 
more  and  you'd  be  back  to  home  and  wife,  and  if 
'twarn't  for  the  oilskins  and  jackboots  hangin' 
up  by  the  stove  to  dry,  you'd  swear  you  could  see 
the  babies  rollin'  'round  the  floor.  Yes,  sir;  and 
when  he  wasn't  so  tired  with  his  day  at  the  trawls 
and  dressin'  down  afterward — he  warn't  over- 
strong,  the  poor  boy,  and  the  work  used  to  tire 
him  out  terribly  some  days — when  there  was  any 
little  let-up  so  there  was  a  chance  to  rest  up,  man, 
you  could  see  him  fattenin'  under  your  eyes,  and 

277 


The  Harsh  Word 

then  he'd  joke  and  laugh  till,  if  'twas  at  table, 
you'd  most  forget  to  eat.  He  had  a  quick  eye  and 
brain,  y'  see,  for  odd  happenings.  Maybe  that 
used  up  his  strength  same  as  so  much  hard  work, 
that  brain  and  eye  of  his  that  never  rested,  but 
in  this  life  allowance,  of  course,  is  seldom  made 
for  that. 

"Well,  winter  fishin',  no  gainsaying  it,  is  hard 
sometimes,  and  one  day  this  trip  leavin'  the  vessel 
it  was  pretty  rough,  and — ^you  mind  the  day, 
Eddie.?" 

"I  do,  Martin;  and  a  damn  sight  rougher  afore 
we  got  aboard  again." 

"It  was.  And  the  first  man  to  get  aboard  that 
day  was  Bushie.  Before  anybody  else  'd  hauled 
his  first  tub  this  lad  Bushie  was  aboard.  'Twas 
plain  his  trouble — the  fright  of  the  sea  was  on  him. 
I've  seen  it  a  score  o'  times  and  on  many  a  man 
that  made  a  good  fisherman  later.  Spite  of  all 
they  say  about  bein'  born  to  a  thing,  there's  a  lot 
too,  in  bein'  trained  to  it.  And  besides  the  fright 
in  Bushie's  case,  there  was  the  exhaustion,  too, 
this  day.  It  tried  the  toughest  of  us  that  day. 
Well,  Bushie  cut  his  gear  and  came  aboard.  I 
knew  he  cut  it — I  saw.  him  when  he  did  it.  And 
he  must've  known  I  saw  him,  'cause  I  was  next 
dory  to  him,  his  lines  and  mine  all  but  fouled. 
But  he  knew,  I  s'pose,  that  I'd  never  say  anything, 

278 


The  Harsh  Word 

he  and  me  bein'  very  friendly;  and  he  was  hopin', 
no  doubt,  that  nobody  else  'd  find  it  out.  He  ac- 
counted for  coming  aboard  so  early  by  sayin*  he 
got  hung  up  and  parted  his  gear,  and  it  bein'  a 
rough  bottom,  too,  that  would  'a'  sounded  plausible 
enough  comin*  from  some  men.  But  this  Ad- 
dicks  repeats,  *  Parted  his  gear!  and  d'  y'  believe 
that  shrimp  had  the  strength  to  part  a  sixteen- 
pound  ground-line  ? '  and  rushes  up  and  over- 
hauls the  poor  boy's  tub  of  trawls,  and  there,  sure 
enough,  finds  where  it  'd  been  cut  clean  with  a 
knife.  And  he  brings  what  was  left  of  the  tub 
down  into  the  forec's'le,  where  the  first  gang  was 
to  supper,  and  shows  the  mark  of  the  knife.  He 
showed  it  to  you,  Eddie  ^ " 

"He  did." 

"And  to  me;  though  I  made  out  I  was  too  busy 
to  look.  Well,  it  was  a  hard  thing  to  have  to  face 
across  the  lighted  supper-table,  the  forec's'le 
filled  with  angry  men;  for,  while  the  gang  started 
out  by  rather  not  knowing  about  it,  they  warmed 
up,  between  Indry  and  Addicks's  talk,  by  feelin' 
that  they  hadn't  been  treated  right.  Addicks 
heaves  the  tub  of  trawls  through  the  bulkhead 
door  and  into  the  forehold;  and  Indry,  who  was 
like  a  thumb  to  Addicks's  fingers,  he  turns  to  take 
it  up.  'And  this  man  comes  aboard  here  and  ex- 
pects to  get  a  full  share,'  says  Indry,  *a  mans 

279 


The  Harsh  Word 

share,  at  the  end  of  this  trip — and  for  all  the  fish 
he'll  bring  aboard!  And  heaves  aw^y  gear  be- 
sides; and  who'll  pay  for  the  lost  gear  ?  Will  he  ? 
No;  but  it's  the  crew,  not  the  man  who  cuts,  who 
pays  for  lost  gear.     Yes,  we'll  do  well  by  him  !* 

"Well,  if  the  Lord  was  to  condemn  me  for  my 
sins,  the  last  punishment  I'd  want  would  be  to  set 
up  before  a  gang  of  trawlers,  maybe  not  so  good- 
natured  as  usual  because  of  a  long,  hard  day  in 
the  dories;  and  perhaps  half  of  'em  who  hadn't 
wanted  me  aboard  in  the  first  place,  and  they  passin' 
judgment  on  me  after  it  'd  been  proved  I  was  a 
man  that  shirked  my  work,  and  that  ran  away 
from  danger;  that  cut  his  gear,  and  put  for  the 
vessel  when  there  was  no  need  of  it;  and  his  ship- 
mates, not  himself  alone,  bavin'  to  suffer  for  it. 
Don't  you  say  the  same,  Eddie  ?" 

"Aye,  Martin;  that's  purgatory,  sure  enough." 

"  Purgatory  ?  It's  hell.  And  I  guess  Bushie 
must  've  thought  so  that  night.  He  sat  there  on 
the  port  lockers,  the  second  man  from  the  peak 
at  the  table — ^just  sat  there,  denyin'  nothing  once 
they'd  seen  the  cut  line,  not  even  movin'  for  the 
cook  to  clear  off  the  dishes;  but  just  sat  there,  his 
head  down;  never  looking  up  to  meet  a  single  eye, 
and  not  a  blessed  word  out  of  him  till  just  before 
he  turned  in.     You  mind  him  then,  Eddie.?" 

"I  do,  Martin;  and  what  he  said  before  he 
280 


The  Harsh  Word 

climbed  into  the  peak  to  turn  in,  before  he  laid 
himself  in  his  bunk." 

"Yes;  we'll  none  of  us  forget  that.  He  stood 
there  where  the  samson-post  is;  and  standin* 
there,  the  light  of  the  samson-lamp  was  strikin' 
his  face  sidewise,  and  the  light  of  the  forem'st 
lamp  on  him  full — standin'  there  he  faced  them 
all  and  said,  *Well,  next  time  Fll  bet  there'll  be 
none  of  you  hang  on  any  longer  than  I  do.' 
Just  that — ^just  like  a  boy  that's  ready  to  burst  into 
tears — and  turned  his  back  and  disappeared  into 
the  darkness  of  the  peak;  he  had  the  top  peak 
bunk.  And  this  Addicks  roared  in  pretended 
amazement  after  him,  and  so  did  Indry;  but  no- 
body else  said  anything.  Them  two,  Indry  and 
Addicks,  were  big,  able  men,  with  no  lack  of  short- 
comings themselves;  but  good  fishermen  both, 
no  denyin'  it — good  trawlers,  the  pair  of  them. 

"*He  hang  on!'  sneers  Addicks  after  Bushie  'd 
gone;  'he  will  if  somebody  makes  him.' 

"'I'll  bet  if  we  was  to  stand  up  by  his  bunk 
now  we'd  find  him  cryin','  adds  this  Indry. 

"Well,  I  have  small  love  myself  for  people  that 
can't  make  allowance  for  people  different  from 
themselves,  and  that  made  me  mad.  *  Maybe  he 
is  cryin','  I  breaks  in.  'Good  men,  better  men 
than  either  of  you,  have  cried  Hke  girls  in  their 
time;  shut  up!'  I  says. 

281 


The  Harsh  Word 

"Aye,  Martin,  and  more  than  that  you  said." 
Eddie  Foy  pounded  the  locker  with  his  mug  to 
be  heard.  "'Blast  you,'  says  Martin  to  him, 
*no  more  of  it,  or  I'll  heave  the  both  of  you  where 
Addicks  hove  that  tub  of  trawls  to-night.'" 
Eddie  Foy  gazed  about  in  pride  of  his  big  mate. 
"And  maybe  he  wouldn't  'a'  hove  them  if  they 
hadn't  shut  up!" 

"Next  morning,"  continued  Martin,  "when 
we  turned  out,  it  was  too  rough  to  put  the  dories 
over;  but  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  it  moder- 
ated, so  the  skipper  thought  he'd  try  it.  Some 
might  'a'  said  it  was  poor  judgment  orderin'  the 
dories  over  that  afternoon;  but  Lord,  if  men  want 
to  bring  home  the  fish  they've  got  to  take  chances 
sometimes.  So  over  we  went;  and  Bushie  bein' 
the  first  aboard  the  afternoon  before,  was,  of 
course,  the  last  out  this  day,  and  next  to  him  was 
Addicks.  The  pair  of  'em  were  almost  together 
up  to  wind'ard  when  the  vessel  came  about  to 
run  down  the  string  again. 

"Well,  after  lettin'  the  trawls  set  for  an  hour 
or  so  the  signal  went  from  the  vessel  to  haul.  It 
was  coming  on  gray  and  chill  then,  looking  like 
snow,  and  pretty  cold,  with  the  wind  in  the  east. 
And  so  it  stayed  till  nigh  dark,  when  the  air  cleared 
and  the  wind  began  to  back  around  to  the  west'ard. 
It  was  slow  work  haulin',  owing  to  the  rough  bot- 

282 


The  Harsh  Word 

torn.  Long  before  I  had  my  first  tub  in  I  mis- 
doubted we'd  make  the  vessel  before  dark.  And 
we  didn't.  No  dory  got  aboard  till  well  after  what 
should  have  been  sunset;  which  there  wasn't  any 
that  evenin'.  I  was  the  first  on  board  that  evenin', 
and  after  pitchin'  my  fish  on  deck  I  went  into  the 
rigging  with  a  torch  flaring  over  my  head — the 
skipper  keepin'  the  horn  goin'  meantime. 

"The  next  two  or  three  men  aboard  had  a  re- 
port of  two  dories  far  down  to  le'ward  drifting 
away  before  the  tide;  and  the  tide  was  then  settin' 
before  the  westerly  breeze  at  a  great  clip.  But  as 
the  skipper  said,  *Them  two  to  le'ward  can  hear 
the  horn,  while  them  to  wind'ard  can't;  and  be- 
sides, it's  eight  dories  against  two!'  And  that  was 
good  judgment,  too. 

"  It  might  've  been  eight  o'clock  then,  and  lookin* 
bad  for  all  of  'em;  but  Uke  a  hundred  other  times 
we  see  it  lookin'  bad  it  didn't  turn  out  so  bad. 
One  after  the  other  we  picked  up  them  eight  wind- 
'ard  dories,  but  the  last  of  'em  not  till  after  eleven 
o'clock,  gettin'  them  by  the  sound  of  their  voices 
while  they  were  still  half  a  mile  away  because  of 
the  strong  wind  was  blowin'.  The  missing  two 
were  Bushie  and  Addicks,  and  Addicks  we  got 
along  about  midnight. 

"*See  anything  of  Bushie?'  inquired  the  skip- 
per, when  he's  alongside. 

283 


The  Harsh  Word 

"'Not  since  just  after  dark,'  answers  Addicks. 
'When  the  wind  hauled  and  we  were  left  to  le'ward 
I  started  for  the  vessel.  He  was  then  haulin' 
his  trawls  and  slidin'  off  before  wind  and  tide.' 

"'Wonder  you  wouldn't  give  him  a  lift.' 

"'Me?  Give  him — that  boasted  he'd  hang 
out  long's  anybody?  Besides,  I  had  enough  to 
do  to  take  care  of  myself.' 

"Til  bet,'  says  Eddie  there  to  me,  but  loud 
enough  so  Addicks  could  hear  him,  'that  Bushie 
and  him  had  it  out,  and  Bushie  made  him  quit.' 

"And  I  guess  that  was  so;  because  Addicks, 
gen'rally  ready  enough  to  explain  himself,  had 
no  answer  to  that. 

"Well,  we  expected  to  see  Bushie  come  aboard 
afore  mornin',  for  it  was  a  fine  clear  night  over- 
head, though  also,  as  you  might  expect  of  a  west- 
erly at  that  time  of  year,  cold  as  hell.  Well,  a 
dory's  but  a  small  object  on  the  wide  ocean,  and 
in  the  mornin'  we  got  no  sight  of  Bushie,  nor  dur- 
ing all  that  day — and  a  cold  day  it  was — and  the 
night  that  followed.  On  the  second  morning 
neither  was  he  to  be  seen,  and  then  we  worried 
sure  enough,  for  a  winter  nor'wester  on  the  Atlantic 
it's  the  coldest  wind  there  is  on  any  ocean. 

"We  didn't  find  Bushie;  and  a  week  later,  hav- 
ing filled  her  up,  we  put  for  home.  Maybe,  we 
said,  somebody's  picked  her  up;  but  didn't  be- 

284 


The  Harsh  Word 

lieve  it.  And  two  days  more  saw  us  in  Gloucester, 
with  our  flag  to  half-mast  as  we  sailed  past  the 
Point. 

"You  know  how  we  have  to  shoot  in  around 
the  end  of  the  wharf  and  up  into  the  slip,  with 
that  tall  smoke-house  hidin'  whatever's  layin'  in 
to  the  firm's  wharf  till  you're  in  yourself.  There 
in  the  slip  before  us  was  the  Parker^  Billie  Simms, 
and  her  flag  was  to  half-mast,  and  every  sigh  was 
that  she'd  only  just  got  in,  too.  *Well,'  says  we; 
*  we're  not  the  only  unfortunates,'  and  the  skipper 
hails  Billie  himself  when  we  shot  alongside.  And 
he  steps  aboard  the  Parker  from  our  rails  to  hers, 
as  did  half  a  dozen  of  us,  soon  as  we  made  fast 
to  him. 

"*Hard  luck,  Billie,'  says  our  skipper.  'Any- 
body we  know } ' 

"'Nobody  I  know,'  says  Billie;  *but  I  know  the 
dory.  And  maybe  you'll  know  it  too,  when  you 
see  it,'  and  lifts  the  canvas  from  off  the  bow  of 
the  top  one  of  the  nest  of  dories,  and  there  we 
saw  it,  the  name  Cygnet. 

"*My  dory,'  says  our  skipper.  'I  was  hopin' 
he'd  be  picked  up,  but' — and  looked  to  Billie's 
half-masted  flag — *not  like  this.  You  got  him, 
too.?' 

"'Yes;  we  got  him.'  For  just  a  second  when 
Billie  said  that,  I  had  a  hope  that  Bushie  was 

285 


The  Harsh  Word 

alive,  but  only  for  a  second.  Billie  rolls  the 
canvas  back  further,  and  there  we  all  sav^  him, 
the  poor  frozen  body,  the  oilskins  covered  with 
ice;  but  the  face  warn't  ice-covered,  nor  marked  in 
any  way.  Calm  and  smooth  and  natural  as  life, 
poor  Bushie's  frozen  face  was  starin'  up  the  sky. 

"The  skipper  looked  down  on  him.  We  all 
looked  down  on  him,  and  Billie  Simms,  touchin' 
the  breast  of  the  oil-jacket,  said:  *No  wonder. 
Under  these  he  hadn't  clothes  enough  to  warm  a 
cat.'  And  one  of  us  there  touched  the  poor 
forehead,  and  then  another,  and  'Poor  Bushie!' 
says  two  or  three. 

"Our  skipper  leaned,  weak  as  water,  over  the 
dory-gunnel,  and  from  there  he  didn't  move  till 
BiUie  Simms  replaced  the  canvas  over  the  body. 
*Hard  lines,'  says  Billie.  *And  I  s'pose  'twill  be 
you  will  have  to  tell  his  folks  .? ' 

"Our  skipper  comes  to  himself  then.  *No, 
not  me,  BiUie;  I'll  be  damned  if  I  do,'  and  wheel- 
ing and  pointing  his  woolen  mitt  at  Addicks  and 
Indry.  *One  of  you,  damn  you,  go  up  and  tell 
them.' 

"As  for  myself,  that  liked  the  boy  so  well,  I 
couldn't  do  anything.  I  s'pose  I  ought  to  've 
crushed  the  pair  of  'em,  but  I  couldn't  have 
crushed  a  fly,  I  felt  that  bad;  but  Eddie  there " 

"Aye  me,"  agreed  Eddie,  "I  goes  up  to  Addicks 
286 


"  Our  skipper  leaned,  weak  as  water,  over  the  dory-gunnel. 


The  Harsh  Word 

and  repeats  the  skipper's  words.  *Yes,  you/  I 
repeats;  and  then,  with  no  more  notion  of  doing  it 
before  I  did  do  it  than  I  have  of  jumping  on  Martin 
now,  *You  hound!'  I  says,  and  leaps  at  him  and 
smashes  him  to  the  deck.  Yes,  big  Addicks, 
that  was  big  enough  to  eat  me,  and  when  he  stands 
up  I  smashes  him  again.  And  then  I  turns  and 
smashes  Indry.  *You  hounds  o'  hell!'  I  shrieks; 
*go  up  and  tell  them!'" 

"And  nobody,"  continued  Martin,  "seemed 
very  much  surprised  at  Eddie  either;  and  without 
a  word,  without  even  stoppin'  to  wipe  the  blood 
from  their  faces — and  their  faces,  not  havin'  been 
shaved  for  two  weeks,  the  blood  was  crawling  in 
and  out  of  their  beards — they  swung  themselves 
into  the  Parker  s  riggin',  and  from  there  to  the 
stringpiece,  and  hurries  up  the  wharf  on  their 
errand.  They  didn't  even  stop  long  enough  to 
get  a  drink  in  a  saloon  on  the  way  up,  but  kept  on 
toward  Main  Street,  and  never  a  look  behind 
to  see  if  we  were  watchin'  them  or  no. 

"Yes,  sir,  they  went  on  up.  And  never  came 
back — not  to  the  Cygnet,  anyway.  And  next  day 
we  took  their  bags,  slip-shods,  bedding  and  diddy- 
boxes,  and  everything  else  in  their  bunks,  and 
hove  'em  into  the  harbor.  One  of  'em,  Addicks, 
didn't  need  the  gear,  anyway;  he  never  went  fishing 
again." 

287 


The  Harsh  Word 

Here,  while  Martin  paused  to  stare  into  the  bot- 
tom of  his  empty  mug,  the  cook  queried,  "And 
what's  become  of  Addicks,  Martin?" 

"Oh,  he's  ashore,  working  a  day  now  and  a 
day  again,  when  he  c'n  find  anybody  to  give  him 
a  day's  work  and  he's  sober  enough,  for  from  that 
day  to  this  he's  drawn  but  few  sober  breaths." 

"Andlndry,  Martin?" 

"About  a  month  later  he  was  washed  off  the 
deck  of  the  Independence  off  BacaHen — she  mak- 
ing a  passage  at  the  time.  'Twas  in  broad  Hght, 
too;  but  nobody  jumped  overboard  after  him'' 

During  the  silence  which  ensued,  Martin  stood 
up  and  looked  toward  the  coffee  kettle,  as  if  con- 
templating another  mug-up;  but  moderation,  as 
ever,  prevailing  with  him,  he  eventually,  though 
with  a  Hngering  shake  of  the  head,  replaced  his 
mug  in  the  grub-locker. 

"February  the  twelfth,  a  year  to-morrow — 
poor  Bushie!"  muttered  Martin,  and  mounted 
the  ladder. 

"Poor  Bushie!"  echoed  Foy,  and  cHmbed  after 
Martin. 


288 


THE  MAGNETIC  HEARTH 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

**  Clancy  was  laying  his  course  that  day, 
Clipping  it  out  o'  Fortune  Bay — " 

and  so  on  to  the  further  details,  the  fifteen  hundred 
barrels  of  frozen  herring  in  his  hold,  and  a  breeze 
that  sang  lullabies  of  home,  when  one  of  his  crew 
had  to  fall  sick. 

"And  of  all  times!"  exploded  his  mates.  "The 
first  cargo  of  the  season;  and  now  Glover  '11  beat 
us  out — ready  to  sail  when  we  left."  But  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  put  back  to  St.  Marys 
and  ship  another  man  in  his  place. 

The  new  man  was  but  fairly  over  the  rail — 
Man!  but  the  jaunty  chap  he  was! — ^when  he  had 
to  break  out  with:  "So  this  is  the  Tommie  Clancy 
Fve  been  hearing  so  much  about  ?  The  great 
Tommie  Clancy — Clancy  the  sail  carrier!  Well, 
Fve  yet  to  see  the  man  that  could  carry  sail  enough 
for  me." 

Of  course  that  was  too  good  for  the  crew  to 
keep;  and  while  they  were  getting  under  way 
again  they  started  to  tell  the  skipper  of  what  the 
new  man  had  said,  thinking  to  touch  his  profes- 
sional reply  and  sting  him  to  one  of  his  famous 

291 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

rejoinders,  perhaps  set  him  to  teach  the  fellow  a 
lesson.  But  they  were  grievously  disappointed. 
He  did  not  let  them  half  finish.  "To  the  devil 
with  what  he  said!"  exploded  the  irate  Clancy. 
He  had  only  himself  just  leaped  aboard,  after 
seeing  the  sick  man  attended  to  ashore.  "Look 
now!"  and  held  up  a  letter.  "Ought  to  have 
been  given  me  a  week  ago.  Only  I  stepped  into 
the  post-office  on  the  way  down,  Fd  never  got  it 
at  all.  If  Fd  got  it  when  I  ought  to,  we'd  been 
half-way  home  by  now,  with  that  sick  man  taking 
his  chances  out  of  the  medicine-chest.  And  more 
than  that,"  and  he  held  aloft  a  telegram,  al- 
though, instead  of  telling  them  what  that  was 
about,  he  thrust  it  into  an  inside  pocket. 

"Hush!"  warned  one,  a  subtle  one,  a  man  who 
had  essayed  to  report  the  new  man's  words  about 
sail-carrying.  "  Maybe  he's  put  out  about  Glover, 
who  left  for  home  last  night,"  meaning  it  to  reach 
the  skipper's  ears,  which  it  did. 

"To  the  devil  with  Glover!"  said  Clancy. 
"We  won't  be  horrie  any  later  because  he's  left 
before  us." 

"But  the  market.  Skipper?" 

"To  hell  with  the  market,  too — what's  the  mat- 
ter with  that  anchor  ?  Is  that  anchor  cat-headed 
yet.?  No.?  Well,  why  isn't  it?  And  another 
heave  or  two  on  those  throat-halyards.     And,  Lord 

292 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

in  heaven!  bend  your  backs.  Some  o'  you  act 
as  though  you  thought  you  were  pulHng  on 
pack-threads." 

And  in  that  spirit  they  left  for  home.  At  dark 
they  had  sunk  the  headlands  of  Cannargie,  at  dawn 
they  raised  the  cliffs  of  Whitehead,  which  truly 
was  going  some,  as  Sam  Leary  put  it  when  after 
an  arduous  trick  to  the  wheel  he  dropped  below, 
dodging  as  he  leaped  from  the  lowest  step  the  heavy 
steel  stays  which  held  the  Duncan  together  for- 
ward. Them  damn  things — "some  day  they'll 
cut  a  man's  head  off  coming  below  in  a  hurry." 

"I  caFlate  by  the  way  she's  hoppin',  Sammie, 
that  it's  blowin'  some."     This  from  the  cook. 

"Go  up  and  have  a  look  for  yourself,  cookie. 
Some  water  on  her  deck." 

"No  need  to  go  on  deck  to  see  loose  water, 
Sam.  I  c'n  get  that  here.  I  wish  she  was  a  little 
tighter.  There's  blessed  little  comfort  wearin' 
rubber  boots  all  the  time  below.  Don't  you  think 
she's  a  bit  loose  for  a  winter  passage,  Sammie .? 
Look  at  them  things,  now."  He  pointed  to  the 
heavy  strengthening  stays  which  Sam  had  dodged, 
and  which  stretched  across  the  forec's'le  just 
abaft  the  butt  of  the  foremast. 

These  rods,  to  which  Sam  had  already  referred, 
and  of  an  X  form,  extended  from  side  to  side  of 
the  vessel.     If  it  were  not  for  them  the  Duncan, 

293 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

a  notoriously  hard-driven  vessel  would  (or  so 
common  report  had  it)  have  long  ago  ended  her 
career.  To  further  stiffen  the  Duncan,  it  may  be 
added,  that  she  was  also  hooped  by  iron  bands 
outside  her  hull;  the  same  extending  from  chain- 
plates  to  chain-plates  forward.  Even  as  the  men 
gazed,  the  steel  stays,  which  crossed  at  the  fore- 
mast, were  quivering  under  the  impact  which  came 
of  the  vessel  plunging  into  heavy  seas  before  an 
immense  press  of  canvas.  "Some  day,  Sammie, 
them  rods'll  part,  and  then  she'll  split  in  two  like 
a  Boston  cracker  and  down  she'll  go  the  further 
from  the  cook." 

"  If,  instead  of  swearing  at  them  so  much,  cook, 
you'd  once  in  a  while  take  a  marlinespike  to  the 
turnbuckle  and  screw 'em  a  little  tighter — "  Sam  fol- 
lowed his  own  advice.     "There;  that  looks  better." 

"But  she  is  loose,  Sammie." 

"Loose.?  Of  course  she's  loose.  But  that's 
no  fault  of  hers.  Look  back  at  the  passages  she's 
made.  Sure  'tisn't  in  nature  for  a  vessel  to  be 
driven  as  this  man's  driven  this  one  for  years  now 
and  she  not  be  loose.  But  that  only  affects  a 
vessel's  comfort.  For  sailin'  'tis  no  harm.  In- 
deed, 'tis  notorious  that  a  loose  vessel  sails  fastest." 

"H-m-m — then  this  one  ought  to  be  about  the 
fastest  thing  that  ever  wiped  her  nose  in  a  winter 
westerly." 

294 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

"And  so  she  is.  Fd  hate  to  say  what  I  think 
she's  logging  now,  for  fear  of  what  you'd  call  me. 
But  what  odds  if  she  is  loose,  so  she's  standin'  up 
well  ?  And  she's  standin'  up — well  enough  to 
carry  her  mains'l  anyway,  and  all  the  vessels 
that's  carryin'  a  whole  mains'l  hereaway  to-day 
c'n  be  counted  on  the  thumbs  of  a  one-armed 
man,  I'll  bet." 

"And  no  slack  now,  Sammie,  till  he's  home, 
Is'pose?" 

"Slack  ?  Slack  ?"  Leary  looked  into  the  cook's 
face  to  assure  himself  no  joke  was  meant.  "This 
man  slack  on  a  passage  home  ?  Well,  if — there  goes 
another  bunch  of  crockery,  cookie.  You  ought 
to  know  better  than  leave  them  around  so  care- 
less— and  the  way  this  vessel's  bein'  jolted.  If 
I  know  him,  he's  got  a  picture  in  his  eye  now  of 
cradles  and  babies  and  a  lone  woman  by  the  fire. 
No,  sir,  if  it  was  bio  win'  1 6-inch  guns  out  of  the 
water  he  wouldn't  slack  now." 

And  never  a  slack  did  Clancy  think  of.  Cruel 
it  certainly  seemed.  Wind  just  forward  of  her 
beam  then,  and  so  allowing  of  sheet  enough  to 
keep  all  the  bouncing  life  in  her.  And  the  sea  ? 
She  was  picking  it  up  over  her  knightheads  and 
passing  it  along  deck,  smothering  hatches,  house, 
and  wheel-box,  and  over  the  taffrail  roaring. 
"Like  an  express-train  on  the  other  track,"  said 

295 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

the  next  man  ofF  watch  after  Leary.  "Honest, 
I  caught  myself  looking  back  at  her  wake  to  see 
if  I  couldn't  see  the  cars  going  out  of  sight  around 
the  curve.  Man!  if  she  don't  bust  all  the  records 
this  trip!" 

And  that  started  them  to  figuring  out  how  long 
before  she  would  be  here,  there,  and  finally  into 
Gloucester,  which  is  known  of  any  old  Gloucester 
fisherman  to  be  the  surest  way  to  discount  any 
good  luck  in  store.  It  was  only  inevitable,  then, 
that  the  vengeful  wind  should  jump  to  the  west- 
ward. The  skipper  was  the  first  to  note  the  veer- 
ing, and  it  was,  "Blast  your  hoary  old  face! — 
can't  you  stay  with  a  man  in  a  hurry  for  two  days 
running?"  And  to  the  man  at  the  wheel  then, 
"Let  her  come  about,  and  don't  trip  her,  either." 

Almost  to  Sable  Island  Northwest  Light  it  was 
on  that  tack.  Abreast  of  Cape  Sable  they  hoped 
it  would  be  on  the  inshore  tack.  But  no;  the 
wind  headed  them  off  again  and  developed  into 
a  westerly  hurricane,  of  which,  between  one  tack 
and  the  other,  they  got  thirty  hours,  she  reeling 
off  her  express  speed  under  four  lowers  the  mean- 
time. It  was  then  her  planks  first  gave  warning. 
Clancy  was  not  deaf  to  the  indications.  "But 
no  fear;  she  won't  give  in.  I  never  could  make 
her  give  in.  She'll  keep  going,  this  one,  till  the 
planks  are  torn  from  her  frame.     That's  the  spirit 

296 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

of  her.  But  here's  this  devil's  breeze  heading  us 
off  again." 

It  was  on  that  next  tack  she  showed  herself  the 
wonderful  vessel  altogether.  And  Clancy  stand- 
ing right  there  to  see  her.  "Did  you  ever  see  her 
like?"  he  asked,  and  so  fired  with  admiration  of 
her  that — she  was  carrying  her  four  lowers  then — 
he  thought  to  try  her  with  the  staysail.  And  did. 
And  she  stood  up  under  that;  not  without  some 
further  creaking  and  groaning  of  her  joints,  it  is 
true,  but  still  right  side  up.  "M-m!"  mur- 
mured Clancy,  in  sheer  admiration,  and  after  that 
gave  her  the  balloon.  Blue  times  it  was  then, 
spume  and  foam  and  a  clawing  sea — a  great  occa- 
sion altogether.  Grand,  yes — life  well  worth 
living;  and  then — it  was  the  forward  watch  who, 
thinking  he  heard  an  unusual  gurgling  overboard, 
stuck  his  head  over  her  windward  bow.  And  im- 
mediately hopped  back  with  warning  arms: 
"Skipper!  oh, Skipper, she's  all  opened  upfor'ard!" 

"Then  slap  it  to  her  on  the  other  tack,"  said 
Clancy,  and  never  even  smiled,  for  the  madness 
of  making  a  passage  was  on  him. 

And  while  on  that  other  tack  came  a  glorious 
southeasterly,  and  riotous  joy  prevailed  aboard 
the  Duncan,  A  southeasterly  gale  for  home- 
bound  vessels,  especially  in  winter!  It  is  a  soften- 
ing,  albeit  at  times   a  howling,   influence.     Par- 

297 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

ticularly  does  it  add  to  the  joy  of  man  when  it  fol- 
lows a  hard  westerly,  serving  then  to  melt  the  ice. 
And  straight  down  the  Cape  Shore  went  the  Dun- 
can before  it,  while  Tommie  Clancy,  standing  on 
her  quarter,  smiled  the  smile  of  a  boy  with  a  slice 
of  bread  and  molasses.  To  Sam  Leary's  query, 
"Will  you  beat  him  out.^*"  he  asked,  "Beat  who 
out?" 

"Why,  Glover." 

"  Oh,  him !  Twelve  hours  start }  I  don't  know. 
And  what's  more,  Sammie,  I  don't  know's  I  care. 
We're  sailing  now,  that's  sure,"  and  the  frequent 
seas  threatening  to  overhaul  and  smother  her,  he 
took  the  wheel  himself;  and  for  fourteen  hours 
stood  to  it,  lifting  a  hand  from  the  spokes  only  to 
gulp  down  the  cups  of  hot  coffee  which  were 
brought  when  chance  offered.  And  sang  little 
songs  to  himself  the  while — songs  of  home,  and 
hearth,  and  wife,  and  children — songs  the  Celtic 
people  sing  as  the  mother  rocks  the  babies,  the 
fathers  as  they  meditate  on  life,  death,  and  what 
comes  after. 

In  the  milder  spells  of  that  run  the  water  on 
her  quarter  piled  to  Clancy's  thighs,  but  later  it 
came  to  his  waist;  and  there  was  one  inspiring 
stretch  of  four  hours  when  the  solid  water  came 
boiling  to  his  breast.  And  a  man  of  sweeping 
height  was  Clancy.     She  must  have  been  a  sight 

298 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

to  please  the  gods ;  certainly  she  was  a  joy  to  all  she 
met  along  the  way.  They  breasted  a  fleet  of 
outbound  trawlers  hove  to  inside  La  Have,  under 
double-reefed  foresails  all.  To  the  rail  of  one, 
the  Buccaneer,  stood  Crump  Taylor.  "What  is 
it?"  hailed  Crump. 

"I  don't  know,"  yelled  back  Tommie,  "but 
ril  know  before  a  great  while  an'  this  breeze  holds 
out. 

"Well,  what's  your  hurry?"  asked  the  master 
of  the  next  one,  which  herself  rocked  to  the  sea's 
surge  till  her  fore-keel  could  be  seen  to  the  waist. 

"Oh,  no  great  hurry — ^just  going  to  the  west- 
'ard,"  retorted  Clancy. 

"Excuse  ?ne!''  said  that  one. 

"Drive  her!"  yelled  the  next.  On  the  Duncan 
they  couldn't  hear  the  words,  so  rapidly  was  she 
sweeping  by;  but  they  knew  what  he  meant  by  the 
swishing  sweep  of  his  oilclothed  arm. 

Not  until  they  rounded  Cape  Sable  and  were 
getting  the  wind  fair  abeam  did  Clancy  give  over 
the  wheel.  After  three  days  and  nights  on  his 
feet  he  was  beginning  to  feel  the  need  of  rest.  It 
was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  then.  "Keep 
her  as  she  is — nothing  to.  If  anything,  keep  her 
off.  If  I  don't  wake  before,  call  me  at  seven," 
and  turned  in  on  the  lockers. 

But  they  didn't  have  to  call  him,  for  in  his  sleep 
299 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

he  felt  the  unusual  motion.  He  rolled  to  his  side 
and  waited.  A  moment  and  she  came  up  almost 
standing;  another  moment  and  she  was  tearing 
away.  A  minute  or  two  and  she  was  brought  up 
again ;  another  and  she  was  off.  Clancy  stood  up. 
The  clock  indicated  a  few  minutes  after  six.  Two 
or  three  of  the  crew,  expecting  the  call  to  coffee — 
there  had  been  no  table  since  the  beginning  of 
the  westerly — were  already  sitting  around  on  the 
lockers.  Again  she  fetched  up,  and  again  she  was 
off  again.     "How's  it  above?"  asked  Clancy. 

"'Bout  the  same;  maybe  a  breath  more  wind, 
if  anything.'' 

"Has  it  been  going  on  for  long,  that  luffing.'^" 

"Since  this  man's  had  the  wheel." 

The  unusual  readiness  to  fix  the  blame  arrested 
Clancy's  attention.  Forgetfully  he  lowered  his 
head  to  look  up  the  companionway  to  see  who  it 
was;  but  the  boards  which  two  days  before  had 
been  set  up  to  keep  the  deck  water  from  the  cabin 
were  still  there,  and  the  man  to  the  wheel  could 
not  be  seen .?" 

"And  who  is  it.?" 

They  were  more  than  willing  to  tell  him.  "  It's 
the  sail-carrier  you  shipped  in  Fortune  Bay." 

"Oh-h " 

"And  now  that  he's  to  the  wheel,  his  eyes  are 
white  with  fear  of  the  world  to  come." 

300 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

Clancy  said  nothing,  but  presently  went  on 
deck;  and  there  stood  by  the  wheel  and  casually 
observed  the  progress  of  things.  No  getting 
around  it,  *twas  a  wild-looking  morning  for  a 
vessel  to  be  carrying  all  the  sail  she  had  in  her 
locker. 

With  the  master  at  his  side  the  new  man  kept 
his  nerve  for  perhaps  five  minutes,  by  which  time 
he  could  stand  it  no  more.  In  the  face  of  a 
mountainous  sea  that  looked  as  if  it  was  surely 
going  to  engulf  them,  he  hurriedly  put  down  the 
wheel.  Even  while  the  wave  was  sweeping  her 
decks,  ere  yet  it  had  passed  on,  with  its  grand 
backwash  receding  musically  down  her  sloping 
deck,  Clancy  was  warning  his  helmsman. 

"Don't  do  that.  Keep  her  to  the  course — 
nothing  to.  If  anything,  keep  her  off.  A  good 
full  always  to  keep  the  life  in  her.  That  kind  of 
work  discourages  a  vessel;  she's  going  home, 
mind." 

"Yes,  sir,"  and  on  her  course  again  was  the 
Duncan  put.  And  for  perhaps  another  five  min- 
utes the  new  man  held  her  to  it;  but  the  prospect 
proving  too  much  for  him,  again  he  luffed  her. 

Clancy  laid  a  gentle  arm  on  the  wheelsman's 
shoulder  and  spoke  softly.  "I  told  you  not  to  do 
that,  and  you  mustn't.  Don't  do  it  again.  This 
one's  a  little  loose  maybe,  but  she'll  take  all  you 

301 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

can  give  her.  I  know  her  better  than  you,  mind, 
and  Vm  teUing  you  to  trust  her.  And  even  if  she 
wasn't  reHable,  which  she  is,  mind — this  is  no 
time  for  jogging.  We're  going  home,  going  home, 
boy,  and  a  good  full's  what  she  wants." 

After  that  Clancy  thought  the  man  was  cured. 
But  no.  Five  minutes  perhaps  and  again  she  was 
luffed. 

Clancy  laid  a  hand  on  the  wheel.  "You 
needn't  bother  about  steering  any  more.  I'll 
stand  your  watch  out,  and  do  you  go  below.  And 
if  you'll  take  my  advice,  and  no  offence  meant, 
when  you  get  to  Gloucester  you'll  take  to  farming; 
for  cert'nly  the  Lord  never  intended  you  for  a 
fisherman." 

Be  sure  they  heard  that  below — an  ear  to  the 
binnacle-box  assured  it;  and  when  he  came  below 
among  them  furtive  glances  stole  around  the  com- 
pany. But,  like  gentlemen,  they  said  never  a 
word.  Nor  did  he  then;  only  sat  down  on  a  locker 
and  drew  off  his  oilskins,  first  his  jacket  and  trou- 
sers, then  followed  his  jack-boots,  wearily,  and  got 
into  his  slipshods;  after  which  he  reached  back 
and  from  under  the  mattress  of  his  bunk  drew  out 
a  plug  of  tobacco  and  rolled  it  in  the  palm  of  his 
hands,  and  filled  his  pipe,  and  stretched  his  feet 
then  toward  the  stove. 

In  which  position  he  smoked  meditatively,  and, 
302 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

after  a  while — pufF — pufF — and  a  great  sigh: 
"Well,  Fve  crossed  the  Bay  of  Fundy  a  hundred 
times,  but  this  is  the  first  time  ever  I  crossed 
under  water." 

The  disrated  helmsman's  mate  was  at  that  time 
forward,  considering  how  foolish  it  was  to  attempt 
to  stand  watch  at  all.  He  was  making  no  pre- 
tension to  look  out;  simply  curled  up  and  waited 
for  his  hour  to  come  to  an  end.  "And  I  might's 
well  been  below  for  all  the  good  I  was  doing," 
he  explained  when  he  did  get  below.  "Might 
as  well  lock  her  up  forward  and  let  her  go  her  way, 
for  it's  nothing  but  a  solid  ledge  of  clear  white 
water  ahead  of  her,  and  into  that  she's  ever- 
lastin'ly  pilin'." 

"And  how's  the  skipper  ^     Looking  tired  yet  ?" 

"  Him  tired  ?  And  the  vessel  goin'  to  the  west- 
'ard  ?     Man!  he's  just  beginnin'  to  beam!" 

"Still  singin'  the  little  songs  to  himself,  rhymin' 
as  he  goes  along .?" 

"Ay,  still  singin', 

"West  half  no'the  and  drive  her,  we're  abreast  now  of 

Cape  Sable, 
'Tis  an  everlastin'  hurricane,  but  here's  the  craft  that's 

able— 

singin'  away,  and  his  eyes  shinin'  Hke  Thacher's 
after  you've  come  a  passage  from  Flemish  Cap." 

303 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

The  prospect  by  and  by  moved  Sam  Leary  to 
ascend  to  the  deck,  where  his  eyes  at  once  caught 
a  faint  column  of  smoke.  "That  the  Yarmouth 
steamer,  Skipper,  down  to  le'ward?" 

"That's  the  old  lady,  Sam.  Raised  her  at 
seven  o'clock  this  morning,  and  by  twelve  o'clock 
— the  way  we're  sliding  along  now — we'll  have 
rubbed  even  that  blotch  of  smoke  off  the  sky- 
line, Sam." 

"And  they  say  she  averages  her  fourteen  knots 
one  year's  end  to  the  other .?  Well,  that's  tearin* 
'em  off  some."  He  took  a  fresh  grip  of  the 
weather-rigging  and  gazed  with  yet  more  respect- 
ful interest  at  her  deck.  "Lord!  Lord!  loose  as 
cinders  and  fair  leapin'  for  home.  And — hullo, 
what!  Thacher's  already?  Lord!  Skipper,  but 
she's  cert'nly  been  pushin'  the  suds  out  of  her 
way.  I'll  bet  you  were  glad  to  see  'em."  He 
nodded  to  the  twin  shafts  ahead. 

"I  could  kiss  the  whitewashed  stones  of  'em, 
Sammie.  And  here" — Clancy  slipped  the  life- 
line from  about  his  body — "here,  Sam,  and  mind 
you  keep  her  going." 

They  kept  her  going,  with  never  a  slack  till  she 
was  safe  to  the  dock;  and  up  the  dock,  ere  yet  her 
lines  were  fast  or  her  lowering  sails  down,  Clancy 
flew. 

A  dozen  would  have  stopped  him.     By  their 

304 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

smiles  he  knew  that  he  had  brought  home  the  first 
load  of  frozen  herring  of  the  season;  but  small 
glory  in  that  for  him  now.  All  along  the  coast, 
when  around  his  lashed  body  the  green  seas  curled 
'twas  not  of  herring,  or  bonus,  or  anything  with 
the  mark  of  money  on  it,  that  was  holding  thrall  his 
fancy.  The  Duncan  herself  could  hardly  have 
taken  longer  leaps  before  the  gale  than  did  Clancy 
up  the  dock. 

An  empty  buggy,  with  a  sleepy-looking  horse 
between  the  shafts,  was  standing  before  the  door 
of  an  office  at  the  head  of  the  wharf.  A  boy  was 
huddled  on  some  steps  near  by.  "Whose  gear.?" 
asked  Clancy,  who  by  then  was  on  the  seat  and 
reaching  for  the  whip. 

"Belongs  to  a  runner  selling  fish-hooks  in- 
side." 

"Well,  tell  him  I  took  it  when  he  comes  out. 
Chk-chk — get  up,  you  fat  loafer!" 

"Oh,  Captain — oh.  Captain!"  the  owner  called 
from  the  doorway  of  an  office,  but  he  called  too  late. 
Up  the  street  a  plump,  astonished  horse  was  flying 
with  a  rattling  buggy,  and  a  cloud  of  dust  in  his 
wake.  Through  the  streets  of  Gloucester  went 
Clancy;  jibed  a  corner,  then  away  for  fair  sailing 
on  a  straight  stretch ;  another  corner,  a  beat  up  an 
incline,  one  more  corner  and  another  fine  straight 
stretch,  and  then  fetched  up  all  standing,  with 

305 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

the  sides  of  the  poor  beast  shaking  Hke  a  mainsail 
in  the  wind. 

Fifty  yards  away  was  Clancy's  home.  But  he 
did  not  go  clattering  to  that;  the  courage  of  him 
was  now  failing.  He  slacked  down,  halted  even, 
and,  leaning  a  hand  against  the  tree  before  the 
door,  drew  a  full  breath  or  two.  So  much  could 
happen  in  a  week!  At  the  door  he  tried  to  fit 
the  key  to  the  lock,  but  it  would  not  turn.  The 
cold  sweat  came  over  him.  What  did  it  mean  ? 
He  tried  again.  Still  no  turn.  He  tried  the 
knob  then — and  the  door  opened.  It  hadn't  been 
locked  at  all.  And  then  he  remembered :  "  There'll 
be  no  lock  on  the  door,  Tommie,  once  I  hear  you 
are  on  the  way  home.  Night  or  day  you  won't 
have  to  stop  to  open  the  lock." 

Perhaps  all  was  well,  after  all.  He  stepped 
into  the  hall.  Hearing  a  noise  in  the  kitchen,  he 
headed  that  way.  Maybe — but  no;  it  was  the 
old  helper.  Before  he  could  reach  her  he  heard 
her,  talking  to  herself,  as  was  her  habit. 

"Tea  and  toast,"  she  was  saying.  "Mustn't 
cut  the  sHces  too  thick  for  toast — tea  and  toast 
for  the  poor  creature!" 

"And  who's  the  poor  creature  ?     How  is  she  ?" 

The  old  woman  started  and  turned  at  the  sound 
of  that  hoarse  voice.     "Oh,  Captain  Clancy!" 

"And  how  is  she.?" 

306 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

"Oh,  but  the  lovely  baby  boy — the  day  after 
we  sent  the  telegram." 

Clancy  gripped  the  door-frame  and  came 
nigher  to  the  old  woman.     "But  Ann  ?*' 

"Man  alive,  have  no  fear!  Would  I  be  stand- 
ing with  a  quiet  mind  here  and  the  poor  girl  not 
well  ?     She's  sitting  up  to-day." 

He  started  to  say  something,  but  his  tongue 
would  not  act.  "Upstairs?  in  her  room?"  he 
managed  to  whisper  at  length. 

The  old  woman  smiled  and  nodded. 

"I  must  go  up — but  wait.  I  mustn't  make  any 
noise,  must  I  ?  Don't  tell  her — don't  call.  I 
want  myself  to  bring  the  first  word.  She'll  Hke 
it  better." 

"Yes,  and  more  than  the  word  she'll  Hke  the 
man  that  brings  it.  And  go  soon.  Captain,  for 
there's  that  in  your  eyes  would  win  queens  from 
their  thrones." 

Clancy  removed  his  boots,  the  same  great  boots 
that  till  now  had  not  been  drawn  from  his  feet 
since  he  had  left  Newfoundland.  Upstairs  he 
crept.  A  sound,  well-built  house  it  was,  and  the 
stairs  did  not  creak  under  his  weight.  As  he  went 
up  he  heard  her  voice  crooning  softly.  Changed 
it  was,  with  new  tones  in  it,  but  still  her  own  voice 
always — no  other  voice  like  it.  She  was  singing 
now;  and  on  the  landing,  with  the  half-open  door 

307 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

of  her  room  no  more  than  an  arm's  length  away 
he  stopped  and  Hstened.  And,  Hstening,  waited, 
wondering  curiously  just  why  he  waited.  Night 
and  day  he  had  been  driving — snow,  ice,  hail,  gales 
of  wind,  and  great  seas — and  during  it  all  but  one 
thought,  to  be  where  he  was  now.  A  hundred 
times  he  had  pictured  himself  bounding  up  the 
stairs  and  into  her  arms.  Yet  now  that  he  was 
here,  he  was  waiting;  now  that  he  was  so  near, 
he  lacked  the  courage  to  go  in.  And  even  while  he 
hesitated  the  dear  voice  broke  into  a  new  song: 

**Home  to  his  sweetheart  your  father  is  sweeping, 
Home  through  the  gale  his  brave  vessel  is  leaping, — 
Home  through  the  foam  of  the  turbulent  ocean. 
Over  the  shoals,  over  the  knolls,  over  the  wild  western 
ocean  to  thee!" 

The  wave  of  flame  that  swept  over  him !  How  well 
she  knew ! 

*'Over  the  shoals,  over  the  knolls,  over  the  wild  western 
ocean  to  thee!" 

He  waited  no  longer;  and  as  through  the  door 
he  had  heard,  so  now  in  the  doorway  she  saw 
him.  And  her  face! —  He  clasped  her,  mother 
and  baby,  he  clasped  them  both,  and  pride  as  well 
as  love  rang  in  his  voice.  "Ann,  Ann,  but  where's 
the  man  wouldn't  carry  sail  for  you!" 

308 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

"Tommie — Tommie — home  again!"  and  laid 
the  baby  in  his  arms  and  cried  on  his  breast. 

Harry  Glover  got  home  that  night.  His  crew 
lost  no  time  in  getting  ashore.  It  had  been  a 
notable  passage,  and  they  were  wistful  to  ease  the 
strain  and  to  boast  of  some  pretty  fair  work  against 
a  hard  westerly  along  the  way.  And  did  boast, 
until  they  heard  that  Clancy  was  in  before  them. 
"Well,  Fm  damned!"  it  was  with  them  then — 
with  all  of  them,  that  is,  but  Steve  Clifford. 

Clifford  met  Sam  Leary  along  the  way.  "I 
half  expected  it,  Sam,  as  the  rest  of  the  crew  '11 
tell  you.  We  were  passing  the  fleet  anchored  on 
La  Have.  They  hailed  out  something  we  couldn't 
quite  get.  But  the  skipper  thought  it  was  some- 
thing in  praise  of  the  sail  he  was  carrying.  He  had 
her  under  four  lowers  then  and  was  some  proud. 
He  called  to  me,  knowing  I'd  been  with  Clancy  a 
few  trips.  'Where's  your  Johnnie  Duncan?^  he 
says — *where's  Tommie  Clancy  and  your  Johnnie 
Duncan  at  this  writing,  do  you  s'pose?' 

"'Where?'  says  I.  'Well,  if  I  know  Tommie 
Clancy  and  the  Johnnie  Duncan,  she's  playin' 
leap-frog  across  the  Bay  o'  Fundy  by  this  time — 
ho!  ho!  so  help  me,  Sam — playin'  leap-frog  across 
the  Bay  o'  Fundy — yes.  And  he  liked  to  kill  me 
then — ^yes.' " 

309 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

Later  still  Clancy  met  Glover — Glover  the 
Diplomat,  but  v^ith  curious  streaks  of  good  nature 
in  him.  Clancy,  v^ith  a  package  under  one  arm, 
was  running  like  a  little  boy  v^hose  mother  has  sent 
him  on  an  errand  and  told  him  to  make  haste. 
He  had  been  to  the  drug-store,  he  explained,  for 
a  bottle  of  peptonized  something  or  other — he  was 
not  just  sure  what  it  was — he  only  knew  that  he 
had  to  hurry  back. 

"Tommie,"  said  Glover,  "what  d'  y'  say  to  a 
little  touch  ? " 

"No  time,  Harry,  now." 

"Oh,  make  time.  You  ought  to  after  that  pas- 
sage.    No  .^     Not  even  one  for  the  baby.^" 

"Who  told  you  about  him  ?" 

"Oh,  forty  people.  And  I  hear  he's  a  wonder, 
too." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  but  what  I  will  have  a  little 
touch — just  one.  And  "Harry,  as  God  is  my 
judge" — Clancy  in  a  rapture  held  his  free  arm 
aloft — "he  grips  rny  mustache  only  just  now,  and 
d'  y  think  I  could  make  him  let  go .?  Not  him. 
Man!  but  what  a  grip  he'll  have  for  a  wheel,  if 
ever  he  lives  to  grow  up  and  has  to  go  fishing!" 

"Let's  hope  he'll  never  have  to  go  fishing." 

"There  you  said  it,  Harry."  Clancy  laid  the 
free  arm  on  Glover's.  "No^  let's  hope  he  won't. 
It  '11  do  for  us,  but  not  for  our  children.     But  if 

310 


The  Magnetic  Hearth 

he  does'* — he  held  the  glass  to  the  light — "and  if 
ever  he  takes  his  mains'l  in  to  any " 

"If  he  does,  he'll  be  no  boy  of  yours,  Tommie. 
And  so  he'll  never  take  it  in  to  any  that's  afloat. 
And  now,  Tommie,  before  we  drink  the  boy's 
health — that  bet  I  made  with  you  just  before  we 
left  on  the  passage " 

"That,  Harry?  And  we  drinking  to  the  boy? 
Why,  it's  the  next  thing  to  a  christening!  No; 
put  your  money  back." 

"But  what '11  I  do  with  it?" 

"  Lord !  I  don't  care  what  you  do  with  it.  Heave 
it  overboard,  or  buy  bait  with  it,  or  give  it  to  the 
foreign  missions.  I  know  I  don't  want  it,  nor 
won't  take  it.  Here's  to  the  boy — and  the  mother 
— God  bless  her! — that  bore  him." 


3" 


BOOKS    BY    JAMES    B.    CONNOLLY 

PUBLISHED  BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

THE  DEEP  SEA'S  TOLL 

With  illustrations  by  W.  J.  Aylward  and  H.  Reuterdahl 
l2mo,  $1.^0 

"  In  '  The  Deep  Sea's  Toll '  Mr.  Connolly  is  at 
his  best." — New  York  Sun. 

"  Here  are  humor  and  pathos,  romance  and  tragedy 
all  delineated  with  rare  skill." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  No  teller  of  sea  tales  can  put  the  passion  of  the 
sea  more  forcibly  than  Mr.   Connolly." 

— Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  The  very  breath  of  the  ocean  blows  in  these 
thrilling  stories  of  deep  sea  adventures." 

— Albany,  N.  Y.,  Journal. 

"  Mr.  Connolly's  nautical  characters  are  of  genuine 
types  and  these  stories  are  of  stirring  incidents,  por- 
traying the  adventures  of  seafaring  men  with  originality 
and  sentiment." — Boston  Herald. 

"  Every  lover  of  the  sea  will  welcome  James  B. 
Connolly's  volume  of  stories, '  The  Deep  Sea's  Toll.' 
Mr.  Connolly  is  doing  something  more  than  reduce 
the  Gloucester  fishermen  to  stories.  He  is  really  show- 
ing how  the  spirit  of  the  Viking  heroes  lives  on  in  an 
industrial  age." — The  World  Today. 

"Sea   stories   of  the  kind   you   can't  help    liking. 
Stirring,  heart  moving  yarns  of  the  Gloucester  fisher- 
men who  brave  death  daily  in  pursuit  of  their  calling." 
— Chicago  Record-Herald. 


BY    JAMES     B.    CONNOLLY 

OUT  OF  GLOUCESTER 

With  illustrations  by  M.  J.  Burns  and  Frank  Brangwyn 
I2m0y  $1.^0 

"  Mr.  Connolly  has  a  touch  of  gay  humor  in  his 
narratives.  He  knows  his  sea  and  his  sailors  well. 
He  understands  how  to  bring  dramatic  power  and 
effect  into  a  story." — Congregationalist. 

"  This  new  volume  of  six  stories  of  ocean  adven- 
ture will  strengthen  Mr.  Connolly's  reputation  as  the 
best  delineator  of  the  actual  life  of  our  New  England 
deep  sea  fishermen  that  has  yet  appeared." 

— Boston  'Journal, 

"  His  book  gives  graphic  descriptions  of  life  on 
board  of  a  fisherman,  and  has  the  genuine  salt  water 
flavor.  Mr.  Connolly  knows  just  what  he  is  writing 
about  from  actual  experience,  as  his  book  very  plainly 
indicates,  and  as  such  it  is  a  valuable  addition  to  sea 
literature." — Gloucester  Times. 

"  That  all  the  romance  and  adventure  has  not  gone 
out  of  New  England  seafaring  is  easily  demonstrated 
by  Mr.  Connolly  in  this  volume  of  roaring  good 
stories  about  the  Gloucester  Fisherman.  .  .  .  They  are 
capitally  told  and  they  put  you  right  into  the  life  they 
tell  about." — Providence  News, 

"  Mr.  Connolly  really  knows  the  sea  and  the  men 
that  sail  it,  and  his  love  for  it  is  apparent  on  every 
page." — Leslie's  Weekly, 

"A  collection  that  for  all-round  excellence  and 
interest  will  be  hard  to  duplicate." 

— Chicago  Record- Her  aid. 


BY    JAMES     B.    CONNOLLY 

THE  SEINERS 

With  Frontispiece  by  M.  J.   Burns 
I2m0y  $1.^0 

"  A  real  tale  of  the  sea,  which  makes  one  feel  the 
whip  of  the  wind  and  taste  the  salt  of  the  flying  spray 
— such  is  Mr.  J.  B.  Connolly's  new  book,  'The 
Seiners.*  .  .  .  Certainly  there  is  not  a  lover  of  the 
sea,  man  or  woman,  who  will  fail  to  be  delighted 
with  this  breezy,  stirring  tale." 

— London  Daily  Telegraph. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Connolly's  first  long  novel,  and  it 
carries  the  sails  easily.  In  Tommy  Clancy  he  has 
created  a  veritable  Mulvaney  of  the  Sea — a  man  of 
heart  and  infinite  resource,  with  an  endless  flow  of 
amusing  palaver  to  hide  his  deeper  feelings." 

—  Collier  s  Weekly, 

*'  The  Gloucester  fisherman,  his  loves,  his  crafts, 
his  joys  and  sorrows,  hopes  and  fears,  his  vernacular, 
and  all  that  go  to  make  him  one  of  the  world's  heroic 
characters,  are  here  brought  out  in  the  brightest 
light." — Gloucester  Times. 

"  If  you  love  the  tales  where  men  do  things  and 
where  they  glory  in  reckless  daring  for  very  love  of 
it,  do  not  fail  to  read  '  The  Seiners.'  It  is  the  best 
sea  story  that  has  come  from  any  pen  for  many  a 
long  day." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  A  capital,  breezy  sea  tale." — New  York  Sun. 

"  These  daring  fishermen  would  rather  race  than 
eat." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  Full  of  vigor  and  song,  and  the  breath  of  the 
sea." — St.  James'  Gazette. 


BY    JAMES     B.     CONNOLLY 


JEB 


HUTTON 

The  Story'of  a  Georgia  Boy 

Illustrated.      $1.20  net  ' 

"  Will  rank  beside  '  Captains  Courageous.*  " 

—New  York  Globe. 

"  A  bright,  dashing  story,  sure  to  charm  boys  who 
love  the  strenuous  life." — The  Outlook, 

"Boys  will  read  this  story  of  a  Southern  boy's  life 
with  eagerness  and  interest.  ...  A  wide-awake  boy 
who  reads  the  book  will  find  something  to  stir  his 
blood  in  almost  every  chapter." — Independent. 

"  Fresh  and  breezy,  and  ought  to  make  Mr. 
Connolly  a  favorite  with  young  people." 

— Philadelphia  Press. 

"  It  is  a  good  book  for  boys  to  read,  with  plenty 
of  active  spirits,  jolly  fun,  and  unobtruded  seriousness. 
A  good  book  for  the  Sunday-school  library." 

— Congregatlonalist, 

" '  Jeb '  is  certainly  a  noble  fellow,  a  shy,  rustic 
young  giant,  with  a  heart  made  to  match  his  frame 
and  an  indomitable  spirit." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  A  story  that  will  hold  the  attention  and  enlarge 
the  outlook,  intellectual  and  moral,  of  any  boy." 

— Pittsburgh  Gazette. 

"  A  remarkably  good  story  for  boys." 

— San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  '  Jeb  Hutton  '  is  a  boy's  story  from  beginning  to 
end,  clean,  wholesome,  spirited,  and  calculated  to  do 
good." — Boston  ^Journal. 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  UBRARY 

